


What Dreams Mean

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confession, Confusion, Dreams, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Medication, Mrs Hudson's Advice, Romance, Sherlock Nurses John, john gets shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident during a case, things change drastically for the boys. Mix in some mind-altering medicine, and things only get murkier before they get better.<br/>(Loosely inspired by an episode of <i>Bones</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Wakes Up

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Everything had been moving in slow motion. John had heard the clicking of the safety being released like a cannon had gone off. Without thinking he pushed Sherlock to the side, watching him stumble away in surprise. And then John felt the familiar tearing and burning as the bullet hit him, but it spread so quickly he couldn't tell where it got him. He remembered Sherlock shouting for him, dragging him into his lap and assuring him that everything would be fine. A lot of science was flying out of his mouth and John couldn't stop it -- he didn't want to. If this was going to be the last thing he heard, he liked that it was all Sherlock. Slowly the tunnel vision set in and everything went black. 

Suddenly, he was walking towards the altar while Sherlock waited for him. They were on a beach with John trying to convince Sherlock that the sun block would really help. He was coming home from work and Sherlock was cooking dinner, kissing him hello, calling him little pet names. They were having sex -- on the sofa after dinner, and then again in Sherlock's bedroom. But it was their bedroom. He couldn't tell how he knew that but he did. And then they were cuddling on the sofa. Cuddling in bed. Taking walks while they held hands. Being shot seemed to have had a good outcome. They were married. Sherlock loved him. John looked over at him and smiled. But Sherlock was blurry now. He was fading away and white light took over. John looked around, confused and scared. He didn't want to go. He didn't want this to end. 

He blinked his eyes open and found himself thankful that the lights were dimmed. He tried to move, but there was a searing pain around his middle. He'd been shot. Now he was starting to remember. He groaned softly, turning just his head to look around the little hospital room he was in. There was a soft beeping, a small burning in his hand, and something squeezing his arm. He groaned again, mumbling a small, questioning hello. Was he alone here? Where was Sherlock? Was he okay? The soft beeping sped up as he tried to sit, to get up and look around. 

"Sherlock, go home," Lestrade said as he lifted the cup of tea from the machine and handed it to the detective. "They'll ring as soon as he wakes up."  
  
"I'm not leaving," Sherlock said, glancing down the hall way.

"Look," Lestrade said, wincing as he took a sip of his own tea. "This isn't your fault." He glanced up and said, "I know you're not listening to me, but this isn't your fault. Go home, change your clothes, you look like shit -- there's still blood . . .," he trailed off.

"I'll stay until he wakes up," Sherlock said. They both knew that nothing would change Sherlock's mind. Sherlock saw a nurse turn the corner towards John's room and then a doctor. He threw his cup in the bin and began running, followed closely behind by Lestrade.

"You can't go in there," a nurse said, stepping in front of him as he got to the door of John's room.

Sherlock didn't shout, he didn't push, instead he just said, "Please."

The nurse smiled -- she knew he'd been waiting the entire time John had been out. "He's woken up. Just wait until the doctor sees him. If he says it's all right, you can go in. You're family, yes?"

"He's his partner," Lestrade said, knowing that the word could have multiple meanings, one of which might get Sherlock into that room.

The nurse entered the room. Sherlock stepped up to the door and looked through the window. He could see John -- he still looked terrible, so helplessly connected to the machines. But he was awake.

Sherlock quickly turned to Lestrade. "Give me your shirt," he said, starting to unbutton his own.

"What?" Lestrade said.

"We need to change clothes, I don't want to go in there with his blood all over me," Sherlock said, starting to unbuckle his belt.

"Sherlock! Hold on," Lestrade sighed as he grabbed Sherlock's hands. "Jesus, fine, we'll change shirts -- but trousers?" he glanced down, "it's not as noticeable there and I'd never fit into yours anyway." He glanced up at the nurses' station and slipped his shirt off before putting Sherlock's on. "Leave your coat with me."

Sherlock buttoned up Lestrade's shirt. "God, your cologne is horrific," he said. He tucked it in, redid his belt and then ran his hands through his hair.

Lestrade looked up at him. "You're all right, Sherlock. John will be all right. Everything will be all right." He tapped Sherlock's arm, knowing that he really didn't do touchy-feely stuff.

Sherlock stepped back up to the door's window and waited.

The doctor examined John's wound, tested his eyes, listened to his heart and his breathing. He was very lucky to be alive, there was going to be soreness -- things John had already heard over and over before. "Sherlock?" John asked, looking towards the door. "Was Sherlock okay?"

"He's outside waiting," the nurse assured him, adjusting the medicine. "Can we let him in?"

The doctor nodded, assuring John he would be back to check on him tomorrow. They left and John looked over towards the door, moving forward a bit even though it hurt to do it.

The nurse came out and smiled at Sherlock, who pushed through the door and walked over to John's bed. He bent down a little. "Well, go ahead then, apologise," Sherlock asked, trying not to smile but not able to stop himself.

John smiled and lay back again with a small sigh. "Your shirt is awful," he murmured, used to soft silks on him. 

"I don't pay you to save me, John Watson," Sherlock said, lifting his hand to side of the mattress. "How are you feeling?"

John opened his hand and found he craved Sherlock's touch. Was he really here? "Did you get him?" John asked, terrified that Sherlock had been hurt when he was down.

"Lestrade did," Sherlock said. "When can you come home?"  
  
"He didn't say yet," John said, looking him up and down. He noticed the stain on Sherlock's trousers but couldn't tell if it was a shadow or not in the dim lighting. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock glanced down. "I'm fine, John," he said, "it's just -- I've not had a chance to clean myself up. Are you hungry? You look terrible, can I get you something?"

"I can't eat," he said. "Not until the doctor says it's okay." He let his fingers close into the air. Sherlock wasn't going to take his hand. He remembered the things he saw and looked up at him again. He was so handsome. Without realising it, John was smiling up at him.

"I . . . was worried, John," Sherlock said quietly. "I want you to come home."

John felt his smile fall as he looked down at his hands. "Soon -- couple days probably," he said.

There was a noise at the door, and Sherlock turned and motioned to Lestrade come in. He stepped back from the bed.

"He's all right," he said to Lestrade. "I told you."

"You told me?" he asked with raised brows. He smiled at John. "Do you have a magnet in there or something?"

John smiled. "I hope this is the last one -- I think I've had my share now."

"When do you get out?"

John shrugged and winced at the effort. "Not sure yet," he said.

"Will you please tell Sherlock to go home now?" Lestrade said.

"You haven't been . . .?" he trailed off as two things occurred to him at once. Sherlock had said he didn't clean up so, of course, he hadn't been home. On top of that, he was staring at Lestrade's shirt. "Sherlock . . . your shirt." He paled a bit, thinking that was Sherlock's blood. "Did he get you? Were you hurt?"

Lestrade pulled his jacket close. He glanced at Sherlock and said, "Did you not tell him?" Turning back to John, he explained, "Sherlock is fine, John. You . . . you protected him, he wasn't hurt. He stayed with you, but we got the guy. We got him, you don't need to worry about that."

"I'm still waiting for him to apologise for ruining my shirt," Sherlock said. He didn't know what else to say -- he felt horrible about what John had done and the consequences of it. Especially because John had told him not to go -- to let Lestrade and his men deal with it -- but Sherlock had insisted and then John had insisted he come along as well and then John pushed him out of the way and was hit. Lestrade was wrong: this was Sherlock's fault and the guilt made him feel sick.

Lestrade said, "Come on, Sherlock, let me drive you home. You can shower and rest and we'll be back in a bit, yeah, John?"

"I'll stay," Sherlock said.

Lestrade said, "Two hours tops, Sherlock. John should rest anyway. And I feel ridiculous in a purple shirt."  
  
Sherlock looked at John.

John looked between them. So he had really been pulled into Sherlock's lap. He rubbed his temple trying to separate what was a dream and what wasn't. He selfishly wanted Sherlock to stay, but he looked exhausted and he was covered in blood. "Um . . .you should go home and rest," John said reluctantly. "Get cleaned and . . .and then come back, okay?"

Lestrade moved towards Sherlock grabbing his arm. "You heard what the man said, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at John. "I'll be back in one hour," he said and reluctantly followed him out.

John opened his fingers again, but Sherlock was already halfway out of the room. He sighed and closed his eyes. Images of his dream came flashing into his head, making him miss Sherlock even more. They had been so happy in his dream and he wondered if they could be in real life. Sherlock was married to his work, though. He didn't do relationships. But he could. John imagined Sherlock cooking dinner as he came home from work and he smiled. When he was back on his feet, he would tell Sherlock. He let himself doze off, but this time there was no dream. 

On the way to Baker Street, Sherlock sat in silence. In truth, he was exhausted. Lestrade finally said, "Sherlock, look, don't . . . get stupid. He's a grown man and he made his own choices and he's going to be okay. Don't . . . well, you know." He kept his eyes straight ahead. "That said, you also can't pretend this didn't happen. He was shot -- that's traumatic, especially given his history. Don't think he'll come back to the flat and everything will be the same. If you feel guilty, you deal with it. Don't put it on him or just act like nothing happened." As he pulled over, he said, "Look, if you need someone to talk to, you can call me, yeah?"

"I'll get the shirt cleaned before I return it," Sherlock said, opening the car door and letting himself into the flat.

He stopped immediately and looked around. He was right not to come back -- he could barely stand to be in the flat without John. His absence was like a neon sign, shaming Sherlock. He quickly showered, changed his clothes and then headed back downstairs.

Mrs Hudson came out as he passed. "Sherlock?"

"He's woken up, Mrs Hudson," he said, "I'm heading back."  
  
"Can I see him?" she asked.

Sherlock sighed. "Only if you are prepared to leave this very second. And I don't know if I'm returning tonight so you'll have to come back on your own."

Mrs Hudson ducked in and retrieved her handbag. She followed Sherlock to the street. "You are really unpleasant sometimes, Sherlock Holmes," she said as they got into the cab.

"I'm less unpleasant when John is around," he said quietly.

"True," she said under the breath, reaching over and touching his hand. "He'll be okay, you say?"

"I hope," he said.

At the hospital, John raised his bed a bit more and winced as he scooted back, trying to sit up further. The nurse came in then to check his vitals, shaking her head. "Mr Watson, you know you shouldn't be sitting up like that." 

John lowered the back just a bit. "Please? I can't stand lying down any more."

She reluctantly agreed as she started up the blood pressure cuff. "Only for a couple hours," she said, taking his temperature as well. "Your partner left?"

John's eyes found hers with mild surprise. Partner? Had Sherlock told her that? He felt a soft warmth at the thought. Maybe his plan wasn't so farfetched after all. "I sent him home to rest but I doubt he will be gone long," he answered. The nurse smiled, assured him things were looking good and then left the room again. John looked over at his table and wished he had his phone. Would texting Sherlock make him worry more or put his mind at ease? John raised the bed up again and thought about his dream again. He'd never wanted anything so much before. Why had it taken him getting shot to see it?

Sherlock knocked softly at John's door, opening it and sticking his head in. "Mrs Hudson insisted on coming," he said. "Is it all right for us to come in?" 

John sat up quickly to look and winced again as he nodded. "Yes, please," he said, leaning back again as they came into the room. Mrs Hudson made a small sound and rushed forward, taking a hold of his hand. Well, at least someone finally did. John glanced at Sherlock and smiled at him. 

"You saved him," Mrs. Hudson whispered, squeezing his hand. 

"Well, somebody has to," John teased.  

Sherlock sat down at the chair next to John then stood back up and offered it to Mrs Hudson. He pulled another chair around to sit next to her. "Have you found out yet when you can come home?" he asked.

"At least two days," John said. "They want to make sure there won't be any complications, and then there's a little list of things I have to show them I can do before I can go," he added. 

Sherlock thought about that. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know if he could be in the flat on his own for even a few hours, let alone a few days. But realistically, could he stay at the hospital?

"Should I stay, do you think?" he asked.

John looked over at him and bit his lip. He so very desperately wanted to say yes -- to have them wheel in another bed so Sherlock could steep here with him and be with him when he woke up. But they wouldn't wheel a bed in, and Sherlock would have to sit in that horrid chair for days. He shook his head. "You should go home -- you need rest as well," he said. 

Mrs Hudson watched John for a moment too long before looking at Sherlock. "You can come back first thing in the morning, Sherlock." 

"Yes," John agreed. "But you have to promise to get some sleep, yeah?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He reached into his pocket. "I brought your phone," he said, slipping it into John's hand. "I don't know if you're supposed to use it here, but you shouldn't be without it. If anything happens or you need something, I'll be here sooner than the nurses will, so call me." He sat back down. "I just . . . " he started, but then he thought about what Lestrade had said in the car. "You'll be home for good soon enough. We'll just stay a little longer and I'll return in the morning."

Mrs Hudson turned back to John. "Are you in pain, love?" 

John tried to catch Sherlock's hand, to feel his skin but he pulled away too quickly. John closed his fingers around the phone and thanked him. "Um, not very much. They are giving me some very good medicine," he smiled lightly. 

"Hmm . . . " Sherlock said, "perhaps now is the time to ask you a few questions, seeing as how your guard may be down." He closed his eyes as if he were thinking. "Where have you hidden my cigarettes?"

"Nice try. I am comfortable, not confused," John smiled. "On a completely unrelated note, stay out of my room." He smiled wider, adjusting the pillows and resting back again. 

It felt normal, Sherlock thought. Why shouldn't he act like things were back to normal? Wouldn't it be worse to insist everything was different? Wouldn't that be dwelling on it? Should he really be taking advice from Lestrade?

"Is there anyone you want Sherlock to call for you, John? Your sister?" Mrs Hudson offered.

John shook his head. "I'm fine now -- there's no need to worry anyone for nothing," he said. Besides no one would come out to see him. Sherlock had. John looked over at him again and then down at his hands. That dream had really riled him up. 

"Well, you gave us quite a scare, dear," Mrs Hudson sighed. 

Us. John looked over at Sherlock again even though he hadn't said anything. "Well, everything is okay now."

"We'll see how it goes," Sherlock said. "You'll be okay, John, but if you need anything, we'll help you." He smiled.

"I know," John smiled back. He put his phone on the bedside table and let his hand fall on the mattress by his leg again. Mrs. Hudson was closer to him, and for the first time more perceptive than Sherlock. She reached out and took his hand. John glanced at Sherlock before smiling at her. "I won't be home to stop him shooting the walls -- seriously, stay out of my room," he teased. 

"I've no doubt that after a few days alone with her, I'll be close to mad. When you come home, I'll happily let you be the one she fusses over," Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson looked at Sherlock, "Don't say that." She turned back to John and squeezed his hand, "Whatever you need -- now or when you come home -- I'll make sure he sorts it for you. You know he can be . . . ," she turned back to Sherlock, "stupid sometimes."

Sherlock noted that this was the second time today someone had warned him about being stupid.

John smiled wider. "I look forward to the fussing," he said. "From both of you."

An image flashed in Sherlock's head -- John falling, Sherlock holding him. He wondered if John remembered. Sherlock owed John his life now. "Fine. Then I shall let Mrs Hudson train me up, and when you return, you will have two nurses to hand. Until one or both of you pushes me over the edge, and I am forced to check myself into this hospital where I can lie around undisturbed for three days like some people have been doing," he said.

Mrs Hudson gasped and slapped his arm. "Sherlock, honestly!"

"It's all right," John assured her. He looked over at Sherlock. "I'm sorry I ruined your shirt."

"Sherlock! What have you been telling him?"

Sherlock met John's gaze. "I'm sure you'll make it up to me somehow," he said. And that was how Sherlock apologised to John. Did John understand he was trying to say he was sorry or was this just an example of Sherlock's being stupid?

Sherlock stood up, reaching out to help Mrs Hudson from her seat. "I'll be back in the morning," he said to John, "but do not wait -- if you need something, ring me." He tapped John's arm lightly. "I'm glad you've woken up, John. It's been difficult without you." He turned to help Mrs Hudson with her coat.

John leaned up, groaning softly with the effort. He reached for Sherlock's hand and simply took it. He kept his eyes fixed on their hands, staring at them for a couple seconds before letting go. "See you tomorrow," he murmured, falling back against the bed again. He lowered it half way and lay back.

"Sleep well, but not for three days," Sherlock said, smiling softly. Mrs Hudson leaned in and kissed John's cheek and then they made their way out.

In the taxi, Mrs Hudson could see how exhausted Sherlock was as she watched him stare out the window with a lowered head.

"We need to get you home, Sherlock," she said. "You need to sleep."

He mumbled something.

"Do you think John seemed all right?" she asked.

Sherlock's head turned quickly. "Why? Did he not seem all right to you? They said he was all right."

"Shhh," Mrs Hudson said, "that's not what I mean. I mean, do you think he seemed different? Like . . . different?"

Sherlock sighed, "You're going to have to be more specific, Mrs Hudson, I am indeed too tired to understand your codes."  
  
"Mind you," she said, "you seem different."  
  
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"You seem . . . guilty."

Sherlock turned his head back towards the window. "Good god," he said, "does everyone have to express an opinion on this topic? Fine -- what's your advice then? Make it up to him without letting him know I'm making it up to him while I make a big deal about it at the same time as I don't dwell on what's happened. That was Lestrade's suggestion and I literally have no idea how that might work. I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know if I'm supposed to be making John feel better or if this is just about me, something I've got to get over on my own. I don't know how I'm supposed to behave when John gets back and in all honesty, at the moment, my main concern is the fact that, despite being so exhausted, I am afraid I won't be able to even be in the flat on my own, let alone sleep, and you'll find me curled up in a ball outside your door tomorrow morning, not having slept a wink." He took a few deep breaths. He hadn't really meant for any of that to come out. "Sorry," he said softly.

Mrs Hudson reached over and touched his arm. "Tonight, we just think about getting you to sleep. Tomorrow we can think about how this might have changed the both of you." They didn't speak for the rest of the drive.

When they got back to the flat, Mrs Hudson offered to come up and sit with Sherlock for a while, but he was embarrassed after his outburst and refused. He went up, but didn't turn on any of the lights. He liked it being dark but he did not like it being quiet. He turned on the television and sat down on the sofa. And almost immediately, sleep took him.

John looked at his hands for a long time after they had left, imagining Sherlock's was still there. Had he held John's had while he was sleeping? Is that why he dreamed they were married? He wanted to see that dream again so badly but when he slept that night he didn't see anything again.


	2. Different Indeed

In the morning John was cleared a soft diet while he worked with the physical therapist. There was no damage to his legs, but his side hurt so badly that it was hard to walk. He needed to be able to go up and down a flight of stairs and walk the length of the hall before he could leave. No matter how badly it hurt he needed to do it for both of his and Sherlock's sakes.

He had texted Sherlock when he first got up but there was no answer. John hoped he was sleeping soundly and getting some rest.

Sherlock woke up. He was confused and for a moment, that was better -- it was like what happened hadn't happened and John was just out getting milk. And then he remembered it all. He checked his phone and saw a message from John, but it had only been sent this morning.

_I'll be there soon. Do you need anything? SH_

_I just want you here. -JW_

John stared at the message for a long time. If he sent it there would be no going back. The message was heavy with feelings he was still trying to figure out -- or maybe it just seemed that way to him because he knew what he was trying to say. In the end he risked it and sent the message. If anything, he could cover it up with being high on pain medicine if it went badly. 

Sherlock stared at the message. He wasn't sure what it meant. Was John just bored? Was he mad Sherlock had left? Did he mean that Sherlock should be the one in the hospital, not John? He showered quickly and sent John a text.

_I'm on my way. SH_

He stopped into the cafe outside the hospital and bought two cups of tea. He carried them up to John's room.

"I brought you some proper tea, not the machine kind," he said, handing John the cup. "You look better this morning." He sat down on the chair near the bed.

"I've been busy," John smiled, raising the tea in thanks. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Yes, I was able to," Sherlock said. "Did you? I wish I had a line pumping morphine into me -- it would have made the last few days much more tolerable." He smiled as he took a sip of tea.

"Oh yes, you poor thing," John teased. "I see you came alone this time -- did you sneak out?"

Sherlock ignored that. Instead, he said, "Do we need to talk about what happened?" He hadn't planned on saying it, but those were the words that came out.

"About what exactly?" John asked, now becoming very interested in his tea. Did Sherlock mean the text? Or grabbing his hand last night? Or the shot in general?

"About what's happened in the last few days -- any of it. You are, of course, entitled to a told-you-so, though I hope you know I never once thought I was risking . . . this. Mrs Hudson said you seemed different and Lestrade said this was traumatic and I don't really know how to behave properly, so I just thought I'd open the floor for discussion," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry . . . I don't really know what to do."

"I'm not traumatised," John said, choosing to ignore the thing about being different. He'd have to talk to Mrs. Hudson when he got home. "I've been shot before. And anyways, it's not like I meant to take the bullet for you. I meant to get us both out of the way but I was too slow. That's all."

"But don't pretend getting shot is something that happens everyday," Sherlock said. "It is traumatic . . . it's been traumatic for me at least." He was staring at the floor.

"Well, yes," John agreed. "From your side of things . . . I'm sorry," he said quietly. He knew what it was like watching friends get shot all too well.

"Don't apologise," Sherlock said. "Just . . . get better and come home. I don't like being at the flat alone."

"I did well in therapy today so if I do better tomorrow I can probably go home in the evening," he said. He looked over at Sherlock and smiled softly. _I don't like being without you, either_ , he thought.

"Does the doctor understand that I will do whatever you need at home? I will. I'll give you your medicine or make you walk or carry you around . . . whatever. Make sure he knows that," Sherlock said. "I just wish this had never happened." 

"I told him. Part of the therapy is assessing what it's going to be like at home. Sherlock . . ." John reached out for his hand again and laced their fingers this time. "Please don't blame yourself. I know this was scary, but it's all done now and I'm fine."

Sherlock didn't pull his hand away. If that's what John needed, it was all right. "It's not fine, John, it won't be fine while you're here," he said. Then he stood up, letting their hands separate. "These chairs are dreadful," he said. "I should probably speak to the doctor to know what changes I have to make to the flat. You can sleep in my room -- that will cut down on stairs for you. I'll tidy the things from the floor -- or at least push them into a corner. I'll make it all right, John, I will."

John let his hand visibly fall away and he watched Sherlock pacing. "Sherlock, everything is all right. Please," he said quietly.

Sherlock turned to John. "All right, I'll try to believe you," he said softly. "What should we do now?"

John shrugged. "It's a bit boring here. I can ask the nurse if we can go for a walk? Just up and down the hall."

"I could push you in the chair and maybe we could further," Sherlock said.  
  
"Sure," John nodded. "But I want to walk first so they can send me home," he smiled.

Sherlock stepped out for the nurse and then returned. "We can walk down the hall together and then she'll bring us a wheelchair and we can only be gone for no more than ten minutes," Sherlock said. He moved over to the bed to help John up. "What do I have to do?" he said, a little worried about doing something wrong.

John used his hand to prop himself up. "Just stay close," he said, taking small steps towards the door. Each time he put weight on his leg there was a shooting pain up his side. But it was tolerable and he made his way slowly.

Sherlock felt his eyes start to well up, but he swallowed hard to make them stop. This was horrible seeing John in pain and knowing that it had only happened because of him. "I'm right here," he said quietly.

John glanced up and reached out for his arm. "Please don't," he murmured. "I promise I'm okay. It's only the stitching from the surgery that hurts a bit. Nothing serious," he said.

Sherlock put his hand over John's on his arm as they walked slowly. "I wish I were walking you out the door and then home for good," he said, trying to make a smile.

"I know, but this is helping," he said. "They said tomorrow, most likely."

"Stop saying that," Sherlock said, "just in case. I'm sorry . . . I know I'm the one who keeps bringing it up. But you need to stay as long as you need to stay, John." A nurse walked by the two of them and smiled. "What was that about?" Sherlock asked, after she had passed. "Have you been tricking the nurses into falling in love with you or something?"

"I doubt anything would work -- from the way they talk about you they seem to think I'm already taken," he said. He watched Sherlock's face to see if there would be any kind of reaction to that.

"What do you mean? What are they saying about me?" Sherlock said.

"Well, just how you were here while I was out and how you wouldn't go home until I woke up. They keep calling you my partner but it's the way they say it -- they must have misunderstood," he added quickly at the end. Okay. So that didn't go well.

"I didn't do anything to you while you were sleeping," Sherlock said awkwardly, "I mean, I guess I can see their point -- a bloodied man who refused to leave your side for three days. Sorry -- I hope I didn't ruin your chances." He wondered if John wanted him to move his hand away from his. "Anyway, I am your partner, aren't I?"

"I know you didn't, Sherlock. And yes, you are, but they think it's romantic," John smiled up at him and shrugged. "I'm not interested anyways so please don't worry." They were about halfway down the hall now and John cursed this slow pace. "Guess I won't be coming on cases for a bit," he teased.

"I'm going to take a break anyway," Sherlock said. He didn't want to tell John about the bad dreams he had had when he managed to doze off as he sat at John's bedside. "After all, what kind of man would leave his partner on his own to recuperate? These nurses would have me in court over spousal abuse, I think," he said, smiling over at John.

John chuckled, gripping Sherlock's arm a bit tighter until the pain settled. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm not relieved. I hate when you run off on your own," he admitted. "I think I'll take that chair now," he added quietly. He still had a quarter of the way to go. 

Sherlock looked down towards the nurses' station and motioned with his hand. A nurse brought down a chair and helped John in. Sherlock stood back and let her. "Not too long," she told Sherlock and walked with them to hold open the door at the end of the hall. "If you go up two floors, there's a little open space on the roof you can go out on," she smiled at both of them.

Sherlock pushed John towards the lift. The way he held the handles of the chair meant the tips of his fingers touched John's back. It felt nice for some reason.

John sighed and leaned back in the chair, tapping his fingers on the arm. "Drive safely," he teased. 

"You can trust me," Sherlock said as the elevator rose. "You can, you know," he added quietly, "I'll be more careful now, John, with . . . my decisions." The door opened and he pushed John out and through the glass doors to the roof terrace.

"I've always trusted you, Sherlock. And I still do." He tipped his head up and smiled up at him. 

Sherlock pushed John over towards a bench and then sat down to face him. "It's warm today. Not hot, just nice," he said.

"It is," John agreed. "It's nice that they have this little area up here." John looked at Sherlock's hands, but there was no reason to take them now. For a second he considered telling Sherlock about his dream but he chickened out, looking around the roof again. "Have you spoken to Lestrade today?"

"No, I've not," Sherlock said. "I've not spoken to anyone, except you, obviously." He smiled a little before looking out, over the nearby buildings. "John, do you think I seem different than I did before this happened?"

"Yes," John nodded. "You haven't told me what I had for breakfast yet," he smiled. He reached out and touched Sherlock's knee. "You seem . . . timid around me. I understand why -- I'm just not used to it."  

"I don't mean to be," Sherlock said. "But I do feel a bit different. And like Lestrade said, this is kind of a big thing to have happened to us. If I'm different, John, I want to be better."

John smiled. "I really don't know how that's possible. Anyways, I am different too so . . .it's okay," he said. It had to be okay. 

"How have you changed?" Sherlock said, a little worried that John meant he'd be less tolerable of Sherlock's stupid, impulsive decisions.

"I don't know," he shrugged, clearing his throat and looking around again. _I've realised that I am in love with you and am constantly trying not to flirt with you._ "Did you see Mrs Hudson before you left?"

"Well, there's a difference: you apparently don't listen properly now. I told you I've not spoken to anyone today," Sherlock teased. "Why? Do you need something from her? I'm sure she'd come in if we sent a cab for her."

John shook his head. "No, no. I was just wondering," he said. "Is there going to be a trial?"

"Um . . . no," Sherlock said. "He's dead. Lestrade shot him."

"What?" John asked, looking up at him quickly. "I didn't know that."

"I know . . . I didn't know what you'd feel about that and, since you woke up, I've been thinking about other things. I'm sorry if I should have told you sooner or if I shouldn't have told you yet or if I should have told you in a different way. Are you okay?" Sherlock said.

"I . . . yeah," John nodded. "No, I'm fine. I'm just surprised. When you said Lestrade got him I just thought -- well. Is it bad if I am a bit happy about that?"

"Obviously not. We were right -- it was him, they found 'souvenirs' in his flat, so he was clearly a horrible person. And besides, he shot my partner and anyone who does that will have to pay dearly," Sherlock said.

"You know, you keep throwing that word around and I'm going to expect a ring!" John said it without thinking and again he found himself watching Sherlock closely for a reaction.

"You don't seem the ring wearing type," Sherlock said. "You really are different now."

"I'd say you don't know me, but that would be a wild falsehood," John smiled. He looked down at his hands and imagined the silver band from his dream. He hated calling it a dream. Maybe he would start saying vacation instead. No. He'd figure it out later. 

Sherlock stood up. "Well, when you get home and better, I'll take you out shopping and if you want a ring, I'll get you a ring. Tell the doctor I said that -- so he'll know I'll take care of you and he'll let you come home," he smiled. "We should go back, John. I don't want us to get in trouble."

"You really have changed," John grinned. He pulled his feet up in the foot rests and nodded. "Maybe when we get to my hallway I can try walking again."

"You're just hoping to show off in front of the nurses," Sherlock said, turning the wheelchair and pushing it back to the lift.

"You caught me," John said. "Don't tell, okay? It's less impressive that way."

"Is there one in particular you're interested in?" Sherlock said. "I can try to find out about her."

John couldn't tell if Sherlock was joking or not. "This one's more about home care," he said, fiddling with the string of his gown.

"What? A nurse will be at the flat with us? Are you telling the truth, John?" Sherlock said, worried now. 

"No! I thought . . ." He covered his face as he felt the deep blush. "No one is coming to the flat. Never mind," he said. This was awful -- he was being awful. This half flirting, trying to be vague nonsense was making everything worse. He would have to talk to Mrs. Hudson as soon as they got home. 

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. "What am I not understanding? We seem to be confusing each other. Is it me or you?"

"Me -- I'm just on a lot of medicine," he lied. "I thought we were playing a game or something. Sorry." He looked up and smiled at him for a second, quickly facing forward again.

"When you come home, we'll be better," Sherlock said. "We'll be even better than we were."

John nodded. "I know. Of course we will," he agreed.

Sherlock pushed John through the double doors. He stopped the chair and said, "Do you want to walk? I'll help but you also shouldn't overdo it, whomever you're trying to impress."

"I would like to walk, yes," he said, locking the wheels of the chair so he could scoot forward on it. He used it to stand up, taking a second to let his body adjust to that. He took small steps forward. He refused to go back to using his cane -- the injury was on his side, there was no reason he couldn't do this. "Will you come beside me again?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, smiling at him. He stood close -- not too close to interfere but close enough that John could hold him if he needed to. "I know you can do this, John," he said softly.

John nodded. "Thank you," he said, taking his slow, small steps towards his room. If he could do well enough on the stairs tomorrow then he could go home. Maybe once he was back home he could sort this all out easier. 

Once they got to the room, Sherlock helped John back into bed and sat down at the chair. "Do you want me to go out and get you some real food? I can't imagine what's here if very good," he said.

"Liquids today," he said with a sigh. "I can only have soups until they take out the stitching and make sure it's still good," he explained. "But as soon as I'm ready I want some of Angelo's lasagna," he grinned. 

"Fine, it's a date," Sherlock said, "but tell me if you need anything, and I'll bring it to you."

The nurse came in and checked on John. She turned to Sherlock and said, "Maybe we should let him get some rest now?"

Sherlock looked over at John.

"I'm not sleepy. I promise to lay down and rest if he can stay here," John said, looking over at the nurse. 

"Okay. But no more walking around today," she said. 

"Okay," John agreed. 

Sherlock smiled. "We'll be good," he said to the nurse. "Should we watch some telly?" he said to John.

"Yeah," John said, fishing out the remote from under his pillow. He flipped through the channels for something to watch. "Anything look good?"

"Not really," Sherlock said. "Whatever you want. I'm going to go get the newspapers. We could do the crosswords. Do you need anything from the shop?"

"No thanks," he said. He watched Sherlock get up and he reached out for his hand. "Thank you for staying. I know it's boring and uncomfortable, but I'm glad that you're here," he said. He let Sherlock's hand go and fiddled with his sheets.

Sherlock squeezed back before John's hand dropped. "John, it's okay. Of course, I'm staying. Where else would I go?" He nipped down to the shop and got the papers. He bought some flowers as well. When he came back in, he handed them to John. "I just thought they'd make the room seem less horrible."

John grinned and didn't know what to say as he set them on the table in front of him. "This won't help the rumours," he teased.

"I don't care. I never have -- you're the one who gets bothered by it. Put them in the bin if you want to avoid comments," Sherlock sat down and opened the papers.

"No," John said, putting his hand over them as if expecting Sherlock to take them back. "I was teasing," he said quietly. "I like them."

Sherlock began reading clues from the crossword puzzles to John. Even if he knew the answers, he read them aloud so that John could exercise his brain a little. However, when John got them wrong, Sherlock made a buzzer sound and smiled at himself. He put his feet up on the edge of John's bed, making sure it didn't bother John.

John smiled along with his buzzing and tried not to laugh too hard, tapping Sherlock's foot with his own when he got them right. He felt comfortable and happy hanging out with him like this.

Once they'd finished the crosswords, Sherlock said, "I was thinking, when you're well enough, maybe I could treat you to a day out or something." He kept his voice kind of casual, as if the idea had just popped into his head.

_Like a date?_ John cleared his throat instead of saying that and nodded. "Yeah," he smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know -- I'm sure there's been times you've mentioned places you wanted to go and I . . . wasn't paying proper attention. Like a museum or something or didn't you once say 'I've wanted to go there since I was five years old' . . . I just can't remember exactly. Just have a think and let me know. I mean, if you had wanted to go on your own, that'd be all right as well, I just . . . I just am trying to right some wrongs, I guess," Sherlock picked up the newspaper again.

"What wrongs? You haven't done anything wrong to me, Sherlock. And if you mean this wound I'll hit you. This was the work of that madman. And mine a little bit. Not you."

"Shush, you're drugged and not making any sense," Sherlock said. "You're apparently suffering from memory loss as well if you claim I've never done wrong by you. You never used to be so reluctant to express your annoyance with me . . . I'd just like to make my apologies for those times, better late than never." 

"What? Nothing ever serious!" John protested. "But I am not going to say no to a day of pampering!"

"Is that what you want then -- a spa day? You want to walk around with a towel wrapped around your head and get massages and face wraps?" Sherlock chuckled a little.

John rolled his eyes and smiled. "If you're going to make fun of me then I don't want anything," he teased.

Just then John's dinner arrived and the nurse popped in to tell Sherlock he could only stay a bit longer.

Sherlock inspected John's food. "That looks disgusting," he said.

"It's perfectly fine," John smiled, thanking the nurse before she left. "Will you come get me tomorrow or will you be waiting at the flat for me?"

"I assumed I'm come get you. Would you rather me not?" Sherlock asked.

"I would like it if you came," John said. "But you don't have to -- whatever you want," he smiled.

"Of course, I'll be here, John," Sherlock said. "Of course. I'll get everything ready for you tonight and tomorrow we'll be back to normal . . . well, sort of, but you know what I mean."

John smiled and reached over to pat his arm. "Everything is going to be very good," he said.

"I'm not going to disappear, John, you know -- you don't have to keep checking," Sherlock said.

"That's not what I was doing," John said, pulling his hand back again. He felt a small tinge of embarrassment -- he really had to stop touching Sherlock so much. He went back to his meal, eating quietly.

"I didn't say you had to stop, it's fine," Sherlock said. "It's okay, I don't mind -- I just . . . am trying to reassure you."

John glanced over and offered him a small smile before going back to his meal. "I don't know what's got into me. Except a bullet," he grinned, glancing over again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes on John and smiled. The nurse returned and told Sherlock it was time to go. "He'll be going home tomorrow," she said, "and you'll have him all back to yourself."  
  
Sherlock smiled. "Yes, our big bed seems very lonely without him," he said.

John choked on the bite he was trying to swallow and cleared his throat a bit. The nurse beamed at John as she started checking his vitals. "See you tomorrow," he told Sherlock, looking over at him. She looked between them as if wondering if that was going to be all. John tried to ignore her, looking just at him.

Sherlock leaned in and gave John a hug. In his ear, he whispered, "I won't kiss you since tonight's your last chance to make a move on her. Good luck with that. Text me if you need anything. Well, not with your seduction. You know what I mean." He stepped back and picked up his coat. "I'll see you tomorrow, darling."

John's eyes widened and his heart monitor almost doubled. "Shut up," he mumbled as Sherlock left the room.

"He's sweet," the nurse smiled.


	3. Confusion

Sherlock arrived back at the flat, stopping at Mrs Hudson's to let her know that John would be home tomorrow. He spent most of the evening tidying and rearranging the flat. He even cleaned the bathroom. He sat down with a cup of tea. He still didn't like being on the flat on his own, but it helped knowing John would be back tomorrow.

John dreamt about Sherlock again. It wasn't as vivid as his coma dream, but he saw the same things -- he was married to Sherlock and they were having their spa day and kissing over dinner and again he found himself reluctant to wake up. He ate his breakfast quickly and started on his therapy, working with them on the stairs for a couple hours. When he went back to bed, he fished out his phone and ordered lunch. 

_I can go after lunch. They are starting the paperwork. -JW_

_The flat is ready for you. I'll be there. SH_

Sherlock changed the sheets on his bed and then went upstairs and changed the sheets on John's. For some reason, he walked down to the shop and bought some flowers which he brought back to the flat and put them on the table. He showered and got dressed and headed into the hospital.

John was standing up again, pacing at the end of his bed to keep up the practice as he waited for the paperwork and Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed through the door of John's room. "I've come to take you home, John Watson," he said, smiling.

"It's about time! The nurse had to help me get dressed," he whined playfully.

"You mean I'm going to have to help you get dressed from now on? Forget it -- the deal's off. You can come home when you're totally self-sufficient," Sherlock said, wheeling the chair over to John. "Get in and no whinging -- I've got to carry your bag, you can ride in this out to the cab."

"You shouldn't be mean to me, Sherlock, I've been shot," John teased. The nurse stopped them at the desk to make sure John had his prescriptions for the pain medicine he needed, along with all of his belongings. She gave him a look at they left, raising her brows and winking. She had joked before that while he needed help getting dressed, it would be no problem getting help to be undressed. He considered telling Sherlock the joke but then thought better of it. After touching him so much yesterday and saying some risky things already, he needed to be more careful until he figured out how to tell Sherlock about his new feelings. 

In the cab, Sherlock realised how different his entire body felt -- there was just a huge weight off his shoulders now that John was coming home. He knew it wouldn't be the same as it used to be, but it'd be closer and that felt so much better. "Mrs Hudson will want to see you," he said, looking over to John. "But I've already warned her that visits are to be limited since you'll need your rest."

John grinned. "Visits will be just fine," he said. "I would like to see her, too."

"John, am I in charge of your recovery or not? If I'm in charge then I should be able to say how long Mrs Hudson stays. I was actually planning on using you as an excuse to get out of a few things I don't feel like doing," Sherlock said, smiling. When the taxi pulled up to Baker Street, Sherlock went around and helped John out, letting him lean as necessary to get up to the door. Sherlock turned the key but before pushing the door open, he said, "I'm glad you're back, John. For a few days I wondered if you ever would be. You don't know how grateful I am that you are." Then he held open the door for John.

John looked up the stairs and then to Sherlock. "Fine, you're in charge, but I would like to see Mrs Hudson," he said. He started the stairs slowly, glancing at Sherlock. He hated this 

"Just as long as I'm in charge," Sherlock said, pulling a face. "I'm behind you -- if you need me. I'm right here."

"I'm slow," he sighed, only halfway up now.

"I don't care how long you take," Sherlock said, "as long as you end up inside our flat." He watched John walking and felt a bit sick, seeing the struggle. Inside the flat, he'll be better, it'll seem better, he told himself. No stairs and Sherlock would be willing to do whatever John wanted to make things easier for him.

At the top John took a little break to rest. "Are we getting Angelo's tonight?"

"We're going to get whatever you want, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I cannot guarantee for how long I'll be quite so accommodating so you're probably wise to make the most of it."

"Yeah, I want spaghetti and meatballs," John smiled.

"Well, I'll do my best to locate some spaghetti and meatballs for you. I must be able to find some somewhere in London, if you give me enough time," Sherlock said, quickly reaching up to throw open the door for John. "I shifted the furniture a bit for you so it'll be easier to move around."

"Thanks. I missed my chair," he smiled. He shuffled over to his chair and sat down slowly.

Sherlock looked over at John and smiled at him. "I'm glad you're home," he said. He moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Me too, this is nicer than the hospital," he smiled. He glanced at the stairs and then back to Sherlock remembering his offer about trading rooms. He looked down at his hands and shook his head. He could do this.

Sherlock brought a cup of tea over to John. "Do you want biscuits?" he asked.

"No thanks." He took a sip and winced lightly. "No sugar?" He asked, taking another sip.

"Sugar? Since when?" Sherlock said.

"Hmm?" John asked, taking another sip. "Oh. No, this is good like this," he said. "I don't take sugar, do I?" He laughed to pass the moment but in his head he was a bit worried. How could he forget something like that? 

"Maybe it's just because you're used to such bland food at the hospital," Sherlock said. He stood up. "I've sorted the bedrooms -- you can take mine and I'll sleep upstairs or out here in case you need anything."

John shook his head. "No, I can make it up the stairs. The more I practice the easier it will be." 

Sherlock shook his head. "I know you can make it up the stairs, John. However, you can do your practising during the day time. If you need to walk in the middle of the night, I don't want you to have to use the stairs. For at least a few nights. You said I was in charge and that's what I say." He threw some biscuit crumbs at him.

John threw him a look as he swiped the crumbs away. "Okay, fine. Just for a couple nights. And you'll be where? In my room?" 

"Or maybe on the sofa. We'll see. Do I have to decide right now? Stop hassling me. I am beginning to wonder if you're confused about the meaning of the phrase 'Sherlock's in charge.'"

John smiled. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I was just wondering what the plan was going to be for the night." 

"What do you want to do? We'll do whatever you want to do, so just tell me and then I'll make it an official decision," Sherlock said.

"Hmm," John thought for a moment. "Is this going to count as that special day you mentioned at the hospital? Because if so, I thought someone would be giving me a massage. And a facial," he grinned. 

"Do you really want to go to a spa? That seems very un-John Watson-like. But if that's what you want, fine, you can get a massage and facial. You can even get your nails done if somehow that's important to you now," Sherlock said. "It's all about you."

"I don't know what I want," John said, although a massage from Sherlock sounded fantastic. "Let's wait until I heal up properly and we can figure it out then. Could we have dinner now?"

"Of course. Look, why don't I get Mrs Hudson to come up and sit with you while I'm out? I'd feel better if you weren't on your own. Okay?" Sherlock said.

"Yes, please," John said, trying to get up out of habit. But then he remembered he shouldn't and he settled down again. "Hurry back, okay?"

"Your usual? Should I get garlic bread as well?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "That sounds very good," he smiled. 

Sherlock headed downstairs and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. "He's home," he explained to her. "I need you to go up and keep him company while I go get dinner. However, you'll need to leave once I return so he's not . . . over stimulated."

Mrs Hudson raised her brows at the comment before nodding and heading up to their flat. "Sherlock, bring me some chicken parmesan please," she added before heading inside. "John, dear, how are you feeling?" 

"I'm all right. Sore, you know, but that'll get better." 

She nodded and looked around. "Sherlock is being very nice."

John nodded. "I think that he feels guilty, but he really shouldn't." 

"Well, something like this sometimes changes people," she said, looking at John again. "Sometimes it makes us see things differently." 

John held her gaze but then had to look down, shrugging. "I guess so."

"What are you seeing now, John?"

John shrugged again. "Dreams. A lot of dreams about the two of us being married."

She nodded slowly, clearing her throat. "And you're going to tell him?" 

"Shouldn't I? I feel like . . .well. . . I want those things."

She stood up and touched his shoulder lightly. "I know you think you do, dear, but all this time you haven't and it's a bit sudden, isn't it? And when you get better, you can't just take it back. Sherlock is . . . fragile," she sighed. She poured herself some tea and came back. "If you open that door . . . well, know that if you hurt him he will never, ever trust anyone again," she warned.

"I wouldn't hurt him," John insisted, but he felt doubtful now. He'd forgotten about his tea, and now that he thought about it he couldn't remember what his usual was. What if the medicine was messing with him? "I don't want to hurt him," John corrected. 

"Maybe you should take some time to think about it, John. Just to be sure," she said.  

Sherlock rushed back as quickly as he could. He didn't like the look on Mrs Hudson's face, but he couldn't worry about that right now. He set the bag on the table and got out some plates.

"John, I got spaghetti and lasagna since you said you wanted both. Which one do you want me to put on your plate?"

John looked over and blinked a couple times. "I . . .I don't remember," he mumbled. "Lasagna," he said more emphatically, glancing at Mrs. Hudson. She patted his arm again as she passed him to get her own food. 

Sherlock scooped some lasagna onto a plate and put a piece of bread next to it. He carried it into John. "Should I get you some water? You'll need your medication once you've got something in your stomach."

"Yes please," he nodded, looking down at his plate. "What did you get?"

"A salad and I'll have some bread," Sherlock said. "Is Mrs Hudson tiring you out? I can send her away if you want."

"No, everything is fine," John said. 

"Sherlock, don't be rude," she scolded. 

"I am not being rude," Sherlock said. "I am being responsible." He made up his own plate and joined them in the sitting room. "So what were you talking about while I was gone?"

"Never you mind," Mrs Hudson said as she started eating. "How's Angelo doing? I haven't been to his place in ages."

Sherlock looked at John and then at Mrs Hudson and said, "Fine, everything's fine there." He looked back to John. "Is your food okay? You don't have to eat all of it. Don't make yourself sick," he said.

"It's very good," he smiled. "As long as I eat it slowly, I should be okay." 

"When do you go back to see the doctor?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"In a couple days," John said. "They will change the bandages and then it's mostly up to me at home. The pain is getting a bit easier to handle."

"I'm looking after him, you know," Sherlock said to Mrs Hudson. "I can be trusted." He stood up and carried his plate into the kitchen.

"No one said you couldn't, dear. I was just curious," she said gently. 

"I think you're fantastic," John smiled. 

Mrs Hudson looked down at her plate.

"Don't make fun of me, John," Sherlock said. "I'm doing my best." He poured some tea for the three of them and brought it in.

"I was being serious, Sherlock," he said as he took his tea. He took a sip and wrinkled his nose. "It's a bit sweet," he said.

"Before you wanted sugar, now you don't," Sherlock said. "Are you sure you're not making fun of me? I don't understand what's going on."  
  
"Shush, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said. "It's all just part of recovery. Everything can be just a little overwhelming and confusing. Right, John?"

John looked over at her before looking down at his tea. "I think the medicine is making me forgetful," he admitted to Sherlock.

"It's all right, John," he said. He set down a new cup of tea and touched John's hair. "It's all right." He sat back down. "You should have an early night. I moved the radio into my room so you can listen to it in bed. Or we could do the crosswords or I could just leave you be. Whatever you want."  
  
Mrs Hudson looked at John again. She stood up. "Thanks for dinner, Sherlock. I'll take the rest of mine for lunch tomorrow." She popped her container back into the bag and dropped one piece of garlic bread in as well. She moved over and gave John a kiss on the cheek. "Obviously, Sherlock is doing a wonderful job here . . ." she looked at Sherlock and rolled her eyes, "but if you need me, John, just call."

"Thanks," he said, taking a sip of his tea again, not remembering if he even liked the taste.

Sherlock walked Mrs Hudson to the door. "Do you think he's all right? Has he come home too early? I don't understand about the tea."  
  
"It's okay, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said quietly. "Just be patient. And maybe not fuss him quite so much. You'll both be fine."

Sherlock shut the door behind her. He turned back to John and said, "Bedtime then?"

"I think that's best," John nodded. Maybe after a good night's rest without morphine pumping into him he would feel better. "I'll just take my pill and go to bed," he said.

"Let me help you up," Sherlock said, holding out his hand. "You all right to do the bathroom stuff on your own? I'll get the medicine and some water and take it into the bedroom for you."

John smiled. "Okay. I'll be there in a second." He slowly made his way to the bathroom and brushed his teeth before going into Sherlock's room. "It's really okay for me to sleep in here?" he asked, approaching the bed.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "I put clean sheets on the bed and there's nothing dodgy in here, you'll be fine. Do you want to do the crosswords or do you want to try to sleep?"

"Let's do crosswords until I fall asleep -- do you mind staying?" he asked, carefully getting into the bed. He wished Sherlock hadn't changed the sheets. They smelled clean but had nothing of Sherlock left on them. On top of that, he secretly hoped Sherlock would get tired and fall asleep with him. He thought of Mrs Hudson's words before but accidents didn't count -- it wouldn't really be his doing.

Sherlock pulled a chair up closer to the bed. He stood up and retrieved the newspaper and a pen. He sat down and put his feet up on the bed, slouching a little on the chair. "Did you take your tablet?" he asked, before he started reading clues. 

John looked over at him a bit disappointed. "Won't you be uncomfortable there? This isn't the hospital," he said quietly. 

"I'm all right for now," Sherlock said. "Actually, I might get into my pajamas first. Here," he said handing the newspaper to John, "you read the clues while I'll change." He stood up, went over to the dresser and got out some pajamas. He took off his shirt and slipped a t-shirt over his head. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his trousers and into his pajama bottoms. He sat back down on the chair. "Do you want me to read the clues or are you going to do it?"

"If I read the clues we'll be done in two minutes," he smiled. Slowly he turned onto his good side so he was facing Sherlock properly.

Sherlock took the paper from John and starting reading the clues. After a while, he did get uncomfortable so he stood up and stretched. He moved over to the bed and sat down, leaning against the headboard. "You're right," he said, "the chair is quite uncomfortable." He went back to the puzzle.

John turned onto his back again and watched him reading the clues, getting more and more sleepy with every guess. He didn't want to fall asleep first, wanting to see if Sherlock would leave or not, but he couldn't help it. He dozed off, snoring softly beside Sherlock.

Sherlock watched John sleep for a few minutes. Then he softly slid off the bed and went into the other room and got John's phone, which he brought back and set on the nightstand. He turned off the light and pulled the door part of the way shut.

He decided not to sleep in John's bed, but instead just grabbed a pillow and a blanket and then lay down on the sofa.

John dreamed about Sherlock again but this time it wasn't so good. They were married again but John had a constant open wound. He would walk around the flat only to be found bleeding by Sherlock who would panic and try to close it. The scene changed several times, each time with another gunshot sound. John woke up in the middle of the night, panting and gripping around the bed. Sherlock hadn't stayed after all. He stared at the ceiling and tried to calm down.

Sherlock hadn't really gone to sleep, he was just lying there, trying hard not to think. Then he heard John making noises in the bedroom. He stood up and moved to the bedroom door. John's breathing was fast. Sherlock whispered, "Are you all right, John? Are you in pain?"

John turned towards the door and nodded before realising that Sherlock couldn't actually see him. "Nightmare," he said, rubbing his hands over his face. 

"Should I come in?" Sherlock came in before John answered and sat on the edge of the bed by John's feet. "Do you need more pills?" He reached out and touched the blanket over John's legs.

"No, it doesn't hurt too bad," he said. "I just . . . it was just a nightmare." 

Sherlock rubbed John's leg a little. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

John thought about the dream and shook his head. He didn't want to talk about being married -- not to the most observant man in the world who was sure to pick up on John's wish for it to be true. "Um. It was just the shot . . . getting shot again," he lied. 

"John . . ." Sherlock started. He dropped his head -- even though he couldn't really see John in the dark, he didn't want to take a chance. "Please . . . you have to forgive me for what happened . . ."

"I don't blame you," John said, shifting to sit up. He grunted a bit as he got himself up and leaned back against the headboard. "Sherlock please, I don't blame you. It's not your fault."

"John, it was my fault and we both know it," Sherlock said. "I can't change what happened but . . . let's not pretend. Obviously, I didn't think you'd get hurt. I wasn't thinking about your safety, I wasn't thinking about anyone's safety. I was just sure I was right and that's all I was thinking about."

John rolled his eyes. "And if I hadn't done it? What then? You would have been shot. And you're taller, it could have hit you somewhere more dangerous than your side. You took a military man with you. I heard the gun and I reacted without thinking. You didn't push me. You didn't use me as a shield. I acted all on my own. It's not your fault." 

"It was my fault we were there," Sherlock said. "That was my fault. And don't roll your eyes -- just because I can't see you doesn't mean I don't know what you're doing."

John looked over at him, letting his head fall back against the headboard. "We were on a case. That's what we do. I agreed to this when you asked me if I wanted to see more and I am still agreeing now. Please stop blaming yourself. Please."

"You're not the boss of me," Sherlock mumbled. "So far, being in charge has not been as exciting as I thought it'd be."

"I'm asking as a favour, then," John said quietly.

"Very sneaky, John, taking advantage of my offer to do whatever you want, backing me into a corner," Sherlock tapped John's leg. "Do you feel better now? Can you sleep or do you want me to stay a bit longer?"

"I'll try and sleep," John said reluctantly, wishing there didn't have to be an 'or' between those choices.

"Well, why don't I stay until you do?" Sherlock offered. "Do you care if I lie on the bed? I'll stay far enough over that I won't disturb you. I'll just think quietly, I promise."

"That would be okay," he nodded. He moved to lay down again, shifting over a bit. He smiled as he felt Sherlock getting into bed. 

Sherlock slid under the covers. "It's odd -- I don't usually lie on this side of the bed," he lay flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Are you comfortable enough? Do you need more pillows?"

"I'm comfortable," John said. "Would you mind moving to the correct side of the bed? I can't turn that way," John said, wanting to turn and face Sherlock as he tried to fall asleep again.

Sherlock got up and moved and then turned to face John. "Is this better? Are you sure you don't need a painkiller?"

John nodded. "It doesn't hurt right now," he said as he got onto his good side to face Sherlock. "Were you on the sofa?" He wondered if Sherlock had slept at all with the way he'd responded so quickly to John's moving around. 

"Yeah, I was just lying on it, resting a bit," Sherlock said. "I hadn't fallen asleep yet."

"Isn't it late? I hope you weren't up worrying," he said.

"I wasn't," Sherlock said. "I promise. It's only midnight, not incredibly late, by normal standards. Why? Do you feel like going out clubbing?" He smiled to himself, imagining John out at a club.

"Yes, especially now that I've got a built in cup holder," John teased.

Sherlock didn't like that. "John," he said softly, "give me your hand."

"What? I'm sorry," he said, hearing the tone of Sherlock's voice. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock held onto John's hand. "I won't keep going on about this being my fault. But I will say that I will be a better friend to you. You know I don't really do friends, but you are different. It's felt easier with you, but I'm afraid I took some of that for granted. I won't anymore. I won't."

John squeezed his hand and let him speak, not bothering to argue. "You've been fantastic," he murmured, stroking Sherlock's hand.

"Shush, I'm in charge," Sherlock said. "You do seem a little bit different -- I don't know if it's a temporary thing or what, but John, I'm different now, too. Make sure I stay that way, make sure I deserve your friendship."

"You always have, Sherlock," John said, unable to help himself.

"I'm not so sure about that either, but what matters is now," Sherlock said. "Okay, that's it, I think, that's all I have to say." He turned himself a little to lie flat on his back. "Look, do you care if I stay in here for the night? I've just got quite sleepy."

"Of course not, it's your bed," John said. He gripped Sherlock's hand just a bit tighter so he wouldn't let go.

"It's yours now, at least until you're better," Sherlock said. "Wake me up if you need anything, yeah?" He yawned a little and let his eyes close.

"I will," John said quietly. He watched Sherlock for a while, until he fell asleep himself and his hand slackened in Sherlock's. This time he didn't dream at all, sleeping soundly until the morning.


	4. Sherlock Tries To Be Better

When Sherlock woke up, he was a bit confused about what was going on until he remembered. He looked over at John and then stretched a little bit.

John blinked his eyes open and stretched before his side stung and he stopped. "Hello," he murmured.

"Good morning," Sherlock said. "Did you sleep okay? I think you need tablets."  
  
"I do, please," John nodded.

Sherlock got up and moved to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and while the tea was brewing, he brought a glass of water and some tablets into John. He returned to the kitchen and came back with two mugs of tea. He set one on the table near John. He walked over to the other side and sat back down, holding his tea up to his face, inhaling the steam. "Are you feeling okay? Are you glad you came home or do you think you should have stayed in hospital longer?"

"I'm feeling good," John said. "I'm a bit sore but I want to take some laps around the flat and get myself better." The tea was unsweetened again and John figured that must be the correct way. It was odd being on the receiving end of drugs he was used to giving others.

"All right. But don't rush anything please," Sherlock finished his tea. "Um, John, what about showering? Can you wash with that dressing on?"

John shook his head. "Not properly . . .just sponging around it carefully."

"Will I need to do that? I mean, I can, I will. I don't mind if you need me to," Sherlock said. "Will it look gross?"

"Do you want to see it?" John smiled.

"Normally, I would, but I'm not sure this time . . . because I'll feel bad," Sherlock said. "But I'll do it. Whenever you want. Just let me know." 

"That's okay," John smiled. "You don't have to do that."

"I will. That's all I'm saying," Sherlock said. "Do you want me to make you some food or something? What do you want to do?" 

"Will you make me pancakes while I walk around?" John asked, moving to sit up.

"Um . . . I'll try," Sherlock said. He stood up and walked around the bed, standing near John just in case he needed help up. Once John was standing, Sherlock said, "Well done, John. Um . . . how do you make pancakes again?"

"We have some instant mix," John said. "You just have to add water and mix. Then you fry them up. Want me to make them?"

"No, I can do it, I'm not an idiot," Sherlock said. "You walk." He started fiddling about in the kitchen.

John started his slow paces, moving around the sitting room in a circle. He was doing much better. He could hardly feel the pain in his side now, and he could easily put weight on that side of his body. Every time he paused he looked over at Sherlock in the kitchen, carefully measuring out the water as if it were an experiment. He remembered his dream about Sherlock making him dinner and he smiled. Now that would be something to see.  

Cooking always seemed a bit daft to Sherlock -- it was so much trouble for such little reward. But it was John wanted and Sherlock was going to do whatever John wanted. He tried to keep an eye on John, watching without interfering. He knew it was important to John to make progress on his own.

Every time John caught Sherlock looking, he would smile and keep going around the sitting room, pausing to look out of the window and then heading for the door again. "This is getting easier," he told Sherlock. 

"I'm glad. Maybe you should hold the hoover out in front of you and give this place a tidy," Sherlock said. He burned the first two pancakes but then he managed to get a few done properly. "All right, walk yourself over here and eat the food I slaved over all morning," he said as he put a plate down on the table. He poured more tea.

"What? You're complaining about making four fluffy pancakes while demanding I hoover the whole flat?" John grinned and made his way over to the table, carefully sitting in his usual spot. "Oh -- should I grab the plates and silverware?"

"No, just sit down and put the food in your mouth and stop yelling at me," Sherlock said, smiling. He brought a fork over with John's tea. "After you eat, will you take a break from walking as I thought I could go out and get the papers. I can get Mrs Hudson to come up if you want, but I won't be gone more than a few minutes so I'm sure you'll be okay on your own as long as you're sitting down."

"I'm not allowed to walk if you're not home?" John asked, grinning as he started his breakfast. They were a bit raw in the middle but John didn't mind. "How would you know if I walked the whole time you were gone?"

"Because I always know when you're lying," Sherlock said. "How are the pancakes? And before you answer, you should probably think about what I just said."

"They are . . ." John screwed his face up as if having to put obvious effort into the words, "the best pancakes I've ever had."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tomorrow you're getting tea and toast," he said, putting the pan into the sink to soak. "Should I nip out now? Do you need me to pick up anything?"

"I don't think so," John said, chewing away happily. "But take your time so I can make a couple rounds," he grinned. 

Sherlock made a face. "Just . . . text me if you need anything," he said as he grabbed his coat and left the flat.

He stopped at Mrs Hudson's to tell her that he was going out and John would be on his own.

"You look tired, Sherlock," she said. "I don't think sleeping on the sofa suits you."  
  
"I thank you very much for the insult first thing in the morning, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "I'm not particularly tired actually. I had a perfectly fine sleep in my own bed."  
  
"But I thought John was taking your room," Mrs Hudson said.

"He is," Sherlock said. "And he slept fine as well so don't act like I was being selfish."  
  
"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said. "Are you sure this is a good idea? He's still recovering -- some changes might be temporary and . . . don't you think it'd be better to wait and make sure this isn't just a part of the trauma?" She touched his arm softly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock said, "but I'm only supposed to be gone a few minutes and I've already wasted three of them standing here. He said you don't need to go up but at least just listen for him, okay? I really am just nipping to the news agents." He turned and rushed out.

Sherlock really wasn't sure what Mrs Hudson was going on about it, but he could think about it later. Even though John seemed much better today, Sherlock didn't like the idea of leaving him on his own so he rushed as fast as he could to the shop.

John was slowly taking the plates top the sink and getting ready to wash them when Mrs Hudson came in unannounced. John turned and smiled at her, morning for her to have a seat.

"Sherlock would murder me if he came home. You sit down and I'll wash those," she insisted.

"No, please," John said. "I want things to get back to normal."

"Oh. And sleeping in the same bed as Sherlock is normal?" Mrs Hudson raised her brows.

John flushed and focused on the dishes. "It was an accident. He started on the sofa and then I had a bad dream and then he came into the room to check on me and he sort of fell asleep. It was late."

Mrs Hudson signed softly. "John, that's all perfectly all right if you mean it," she said. "But if you change your mind when you stop taking your medicine . . ."

"I know," John said quietly. "I know that." It didn't feel like medicine-induced thinking but then again he couldn't even remember how he took his own tea.

Sherlock got the papers and John's favourite sweets and then decided to grab some flowers as well from a market stall on the way back. He rushed up the stairs to find Mrs Hudson and John sitting on the sofa.

"I brought you a treat," he said tossing the sweets to John. "And some flowers to make the flat even more hospital-room-like."  
  
Mrs Hudson looked at John and raised her eyebrows.

Sherlock noticed and said, "Has something happened? John, are you all right?"

John looked away from her quickly. He didn't ask for the flowers, this wasn't his fault! "Nothing happened. Thanks for these," he said finally.

"John insisted on washing the dishes and I had no choice but to let him," she smiled.

"You, Mrs Hudson, are fired as a nurse," Sherlock said.

"Oh, calm down," she said smiling, standing up again. "Well. Now that the boss is back, I'm sure I am just in the way." She rubbed John's arm before she left. 

John looked down at the candies and for some reason felt guilty, as if he was tricking Sherlock. "So you got the paper, then?"

"Yes, I got a couple so we could do all the crosswords if you want," Sherlock said. "Were you okay, really, John? You didn't have to do the washing up. I'm supposed to be taking care of you now -- it's supposed to be different than before."

"I didn't want to keep sitting," John said. "Don't worry, I had to fight Mrs Hudson for it," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled back. "What do you want to do now?"

John looked around the flat and moved into the kitchen to get the flowers into some water. "Are we saving the crosswords for bed time?" he asked, looking over at Sherlock. 

"Whatever you want. Honestly," Sherlock said. "I'm presuming you'll have a nap at some point since you've undoubtedly grown used to lounging around all day. But look at my face, John, we can do them now or whatever whenever you want."

"This is too much pressure," John said, pretending to panic. "I need to sit down, this is too much."

"See? You thought it was so horrible before, when I was the boss of everything. It's not so easy, is it?" Sherlock teased.

"Then be the boss again," John whined.

"No, you're the boss," Sherlock said. "I'm just in charge of making sure the boss gets what he wants."

John sighed dramatically. "How opposed are you to a short walk?"

"If that's what you want, John, that's what we'll do," Sherlock said. "Do we have a destination or just some fresh air?"

"Fresh air. I have to get out of here because my nurse is driving me nuts," John teased, grinning over at him.

"You love it and you know it," Sherlock said. "Shall we go now?"

"Go on down first so I don't feel so bad," John said as he made his way out to the landing.

"All right," Sherlock walked down the stairs. "I'll wait here and I won't watch but if there's any issue, let me help you."

John nodded and started making his way down. He was slower than usual and it reminded him of his very first time here. Sherlock had waited for him then, too. He was always wonderful to John. When he got to the bottom he tapped Sherlock's shoulder. "I made it."

"I knew you would," Sherlock said, turning to face him. "I knew you would." He moved forward to open the downstairs door for John and then followed him out onto the pavement.

"We can just go up the block and then back down," John said. He considered looping his arm through Sherlock, but he didn't want Sherlock to think he couldn't do this and make him turn around so he kept them to himself.

"John," Sherlock said, staring forward as he walked. "I am grateful for you. I am. I never said anything, because I don't really say those things, do I? But now . . . I just wanted to tell you." 

John looked over at him and then looped his hand into Sherlock's elbow, damning the consequences. "I am grateful for you as well," he said.

Sherlock rested his hand on John's arm. "Well, we are lucky then, after all, I suppose." There was something different here, Sherlock knew it. But what? Was it just that they had got through this trauma? Was that all that was different or was it something more, something Sherlock couldn't quite put into words yet.

They walked in silence for a while before John spoke again. "I always knew you were grateful. You show it in other ways."

Sherlock wasn't sure he believed John, but he didn't want to make a big deal of it. "How do you want me to show it?" he asked.

"You do already," he said. "With little things that you do."

"Like what?" Sherlock wanted to add 'leading you into situations where you get shot?' but he decided not to.

"Like waiting at the stairs for me when I'm slow. Taking me along on cases so I'm not bored. Making sure I eat even though you hardly do. Calling me your friend. Letting me blog about you." John smiled and gently turned them to start heading back.

"Hmm . . . I feel like those things aren't enough, John," Sherlock said honestly. He didn't know what would be enough, but he felt like he should be doing more.

"Then the blame falls on me for not making you feel appreciated. The truth is that you've done a lot of good for me, Sherlock, and I don't like you thinking that you mean nothing to me."

"I don't think I mean nothing to you," Sherlock said. "I don't know what I mean, but I know I must mean something. Why do you always turn it around and say 'oh Sherlock, it's my fault, the blame's mine.' Sometimes, John Watson, I am not perfect, you know."

"I know. But that's for silly stuff like remembering to clean the flat or not having tea ready when I come home from work," he smiled. "Not important stuff like being good to me."

"But . . ." Sherlock didn't really know what to say and it felt like John was being nice so it seemed stupid to turn this into an argument. But the truth is Sherlock wasn't quite convinced he was good to John. Not like John was to him. That was what good was.

"Tell me," John said gently. They had reached the flat and he was only feeling a little bit tired, so he turned Sherlock again so they could keep walking. "I don't want you to hold it all in."

"John, you are good to me. I've not been like that to you, and I regret it," Sherlock said. "I know you will probably say 'oh Sherlock, you're good in your own way' and point to something unusual I do as if it were the greatest thing ever. But that's not what I want to offer you. I want to be properly good to you."

"I don't even know what I do that is so good. I just shout at you all the time and make tea. I don't understand why you feel this way. And yes, you are good in your own way," John added. 

"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock said. "You do more than shout, although you do shout a bit. You . . . care about me. You take care of me." 

"The same way you take care of me," John insisted. 

"Are you just deliberately trying to be contrary?" Sherlock said. "Be objective. Everyone knows I do not deserve someone like you in my life."

"Sherlock, you saved my life, okay? So you know that when I lived alone I always had my gun handy in my desk? Close? And I would wake up from nightmares crying in the night and I would look at it and think . . ." He stopped and clenched his jaw, looking down again. "I had a limp and I was alone and you saved me. You fixed my leg and I don't have the nightmares and I haven't thought about my gun since I moved in. I don't care what other people think. I don't care if you leave heads in the fridge. You. Saved. Me. And I will never forget that." He realised he'd got a little bit dramatic, but he needed Sherlock to see how good he was. How good for him he was. 

Sherlock didn't say anything to that. But he thought about it. He thought about all of it. He squeezed John's arm.

"Let's go back," John said. "I need more medicine and I think I should lay down. Will you come to the doctor's with me tomorrow?" 

"Of course, I will," Sherlock said. He unlocked the flat's door and held it open for John. He let John go first on the stairs. He got John's tablets and a glass of water and brought it to him.

"When the stitches come out it's going to feel so much better," John said, swallowing his medicine and settling into Sherlock's bed. He hadn't eaten anything for dinner but he wasn't really feeling it too much. "Crossword time?" he smiled. 

"All right then, hold on," Sherlock went back out and put the kettle on. He came back into the bedroom. "I think I'll put my pajamas on," he said, grabbing his pajamas and dressing gown and nipping to the bathroom. Then he returned to the bedroom with two cups of tea and the newspapers. He sat down on the bed. "You comfortable?"

John had taken his jeans off and lay back in his pants and t-shirt. "I am," he nodded, glad that Sherlock had skipped the chair completely and came right into the bed. He turned onto his side, eye level with Sherlock's thigh, lifting just his head to sip at his tea. "Go!" he grinned. 

Sherlock read the clues, waiting for John's answers, and saying, "Are you sure?" if he answered incorrectly. After a while, John's response time got slower. "Are you sleepy? Has the medicine kicked in? Maybe we should stop there for the night," he said, setting down the paper.

"Okay," John said drowsily, pushing his half empty mug towards Sherlock so he could take it. He was fighting off sleep, wondering if Sherlock was going to stay again. 

Sherlock set everything aside on the nightstand. "John, I was thinking I might stay in here again. Would you mind? I'm already here, you're half asleep, and I just find it hard to sleep anywhere else, I guess."

John smiled and, in his half-dazed state, leaned his forehead on Sherlock's thigh so he could feel John nod. Without moving away he drifted off properly, falling asleep beside him without another word. 

Sherlock turned off the light and slid under the covers. He moved down a little closer to John and listened to him breathe for a few minutes. Then, for some reason that he had yet to think about, he lifted his hand to John's head and ran his fingers through his hair, before brushing them against John's cheeks. The skin was soft underneath the unshaven stubble. He let his hand move down John's neck and slid it inside the neck of John's t-shirt, letting it rest on his bare shoulder. Sherlock closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.


	5. Mrs Hudson's Advice

John dreamt of them being married again, this time heading off on their honeymoon. Sherlock kept calling it a sex holiday which made John blush every time. He didn't remember ever feeling so happy. When the alarm sounded it was very hard for him to actually wake up. He tried to fight it, burying his face into the warm pillow. Or not pillow? He forced his eyes open and saw he was pressing his face into Sherlock's ribs. "Sorry," he mumbled, yawning loudly. 

Sherlock made a little groan. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled. "It's too early."

John had no idea what time it was and forgot about when his appointment was. He drifted off again like Sherlock said, letting his head fall forward into his ribs again. 

Sherlock lifted a hand to John's arm and held it as he fell back to sleep.

John was snoring softly beside him, his dream lost now. 

When Sherlock woke up again, he seemed to be extremely close to John and he panicked for a moment that he had hurt him in some way. Then he rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, before the thought of John's appointment popped into his head. 

"John," he said, tapping him lightly. "What time's your doctor's appointment?"

"Ten," John murmured, shifting to get comfortable again.

"John, it's 9.30. You should have set the alarm," Sherlock jumped up from the bed. "I didn't give you a wash yesterday like I was supposed to and now we don't have time." He rushed to put his clothes on. 

John sat up to quickly and he made a small sound. "I did set the alarm -- you said it was too early and told me to go back to sleep," he countered, getting off of the bed and trying to move quickly.

"I know, be quiet, just get yourself up but don't hurt yourself. It won't matter if we're a little late," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry," he added quietly, "let me go get you some clean clothes." He rushed to John's room and came back with a new shirt. "If you brush your hair and teeth and wash your face, you'll be okay and we'll clean you up properly when we get back."

John hobbled into the bathroom quickly, each step sending a small spike of pain through his side. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, running his wet hands through his hair as well. He came back out and put on the clothes Sherlock had brought him. "I can shower properly when we come home," he reminded Sherlock.

Soon enough they were in the cab on the way to the hospital. "I brought your tablets," Sherlock said, handing them to John. "I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry about what I did."  
  
John took the tablets, holding his side lightly as the cab went towards the hospital. "It's fine . . .these things happen," he said.

"The point is -- they're not supposed to anymore," Sherlock said, watching out the window. "I don't want to talk about it." Sherlock hated feeling guilty, but he hated even more that he was trying and still failing.

John reached over and squeezed his arm once before bringing his hands back into his lap. He wished he could make Sherlock fell better, but he seemed so determined to do everything perfectly. He looked out of his window instead.

At the hospital, Sherlock let John go in to speak to the doctor on his own. He tried to look at a magazine and then loitered about in the hallway. He hoped the doctor wouldn't make John come back. He also hoped the doctor wouldn't criticise Sherlock and the way he was looking after John. Maybe he should have stopped John walking so much? He definitely should have helped John wash. Sherlock just couldn't understand why he was so bad at this, when he was incredibly clear on how important it was. How important John was.

John chatted with the doctor while the stitches came out, telling him about practicing walking and the stairs. His blood work came back normal and John was feeling good about everything until he started asking about forgetfulness. John mentioned the tea and the fact that he couldn't remember his usual, leaving out the feelings he was developing for Sherlock. Not that it mattered since the doctor mentioned being easily swayed by things like dreams and suggestions of others 

"So . . . things like feelings for other people?" John asked. 

The doctor laughed. "I had a patient once almost divorce his wife until the medicine wore off."

John nodded and sank into his own thoughts. Oh. So what he felt for Sherlock -- Mrs Hudson had been right. When they were finished John met him in the lobby, unable to look at him. He'd been getting so close and flirty.

Sherlock looked at John. "What's wrong? Your face is telling me something is wrong -- is it because you didn't have a bath yesterday? Have you got an infection? Do you have to come back?" he asked.

"No, everything is fine," John assured him. "The tests are all normal, the wound looks as good as it should right now, and I can start cutting down on the medicine." _And the flirting and touching and dreaming._ "I can probably go up to my bed again." He hated suggesting it but there was no need for Sherlock's room anymore.

"All right," Sherlock said, even though for some reason he didn't feel particularly happy about it. They headed out to get a cab. "Do you want to stop to get something to eat or go straight home?" he asked.

"The spaghetti is still there so we can have that. Unless you wanted something else," John said. Without the stitches he felt less stiff now.

"No, I'm not particularly hungry," Sherlock said. They headed back to the flat. Once they got upstairs, Sherlock got out the spaghetti and warmed it up for John. "You know you should shower after you eat," he said, smiling, "I think that's why I had trouble sleeping last night -- the smell. I guess I'll have to air out my room now." 

"Yeah, I will," he said lamely. No jokes about Sherlock getting out of it or him being grateful for sharing a bed with him. Just that. "It'll be easier now."

"I suppose," Sherlock said. He wasn't entirely convinced, but again he wasn't sure why. "Is the spaghetti better than the lasagna?"

John shook his head. "I liked the lasagna better. Is that my usual?" He asked, mixing his food around.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "I'll make you some tea. Sugar or not? It doesn't matter, John. You know if you like spaghetti better or sugar in your tea now, it's fine. Not every change is automatically bad, you know."

"I'm just trying to be normal again. No sugar, I think," John said.

"Aren't you the one who once said being normal is overrated?" Sherlock teased. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with sugared tea. Don't go thinking you were perfect before. Some changes might be beneficial."

John smiled, unsure now of what was too much or normal. He needed to sleep -- maybe if he stopped taking the medicine he would know the difference. "Sherlock, I think I'm going to lay down for a bit. I'll shower when I get up."

"All right -- are you going to go up to your room? The sheets are clean. Or if you'd rather nap in mine and wait until after the shower to get into yours, that's fine. I'll wash mine after you get up," Sherlock moved over to his desk and opened his laptop.

"I'll go on up to mine," John nodded. "Thank you, Sherlock." He looked over at him and then headed up to his room. He lay down and thought about how he'd been acting, wondering if Sherlock had noticed how different he was. He hadn't said anything, but Sherlock always noticed differences.

Sherlock checked his email and answered what needed answering and deleted everything else. He thought about going up to check on John but was afraid that would just annoy him. He made himself another cup of tea and returned to his desk. Without thinking too much about it, he started Googling spas -- looking at places that he thought John might like.

John dozed off and had a dream of being on trial. Mrs Hudson was the judge and she was livid with anger. She was sentencing John to the death penalty for hurting Sherlock, and when John looked over he saw Sherlock was holding his own heart, black and bleeding. He woke up with a loud gasp and covered his face. This wasn't helping. He got his pajamas and went for a shower.

Sherlock heard John moving about but let him be. He stood up and turned the kettle on, just in case John wanted a cup of tea. He closed up his laptop and waited for John to come down.

John washed the wound carefully and hurried out, changing and going into the sitting room. He couldn't avoid Sherlock forever, but he'd just have to be careful.

John wasn't talking and it was weird. "Sleep okay?" Sherlock finally asked, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Yeah," John nodded. "My bed felt odd after so long," he smiled.

"But better than the hospital bed, yeah?" Sherlock asked. He carried over a cup of tea for John. "No sugar," he said, smiling. "Let me know when you get hungry -- I can go pick something up whenever." It still felt strange between them, and Sherlock just didn't understand.

"Or I could go," John said, sipping at his tea. "I'm walking a lot better now without the stitches." 

"Oh, I don't care," Sherlock sighed. "You go if you want."

John felt a pang of guilt and he looked down at his tea. He didn't blame Sherlock for being annoyed. He was definitely acting different now and of course Sherlock could see that. But what could he do? He believed in his heart that he was in love with Sherlock. But an affected mind could have you believing anything. He couldn't risk it -- not until he was sure the medicine was out of his system. "I'll order it and we can stay here -- maybe watch telly or something," he suggested.

"All right. We can get Chinese. Order it whenever you're hungry. I'll have my usual -- which is fried rice, just in case you don't remember," Sherlock said. He opened his laptop again, but didn't look at any more spa websites. He just clicked on pages, without really looking at anything.

John looked over at him. "Do I have a usual there, too?" he asked, looking down before Sherlock could look over.

"Just get whatever you feel like eating, John," Sherlock said, still staring blankly at his computer screen.

John felt his cheeks flush lightly. "I'm just trying to remember," he said. "I feel like I can't trust anything." It was such a helpless feeling and he hated every second of it. 

"John," Sherlock said. "I can't help you with this, I don't think. But I feel like I would like to say something about it, and I'd like to apologise in advance if it's inappropriate." He swallowed. "But perhaps you should stop being so paranoid about everything. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you just want sugared tea or spaghetti instead of lasagna? Getting shot is a big thing -- it can change you. However, things can also just change, people can change. I just wish . . . you wouldn't get all worked up about it. That's all I have to say, I guess."

"But it's not just my tea preference or my dinner," John said. "It's -- there's more serious things that I can't figure out. And the doctor said this medicine -- a husband tried to divorce his wife before it wore off! And I feel like I can't trust myself and I don't know what's real." 

"Well, John, you're not married so you can't get divorced. Don't quit your job or get a tattoo. Otherwise, I don't think you can get yourself into too much trouble," he looked over. "I'm sure it's not a nice feeling, John, but the medicine -- it won't last forever and then you'll know if it's changed you for good. Until then . . . just please, try not to let it stress you so much."

John shook his head, looking down at his tea again. If he was the only one being affected then it wouldn't matter. But now Sherlock was as well -- the added pressure of Mrs Hudson's warning settled comfortably in the back of his head. He didn't even know if Sherlock felt the same way about him. What if the feelings were real and Sherlock felt differently? What if they weren't real but Sherlock felt the same? John got up and went into the kitchen, wishing he hadn't slept before so he could go up to bed now. 

Sherlock stood up. "You know, John, I think I'm going to go lie down in my room -- read or something. Whenever you decide to order food, just knock on my door." He took a glass of water with him and went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Sherlock lay down on his bed. He thought about John having slept in here. And Sherlock sleeping in here with him. It had been kind of nice. He wished John would just behave normally -- the tea, the food, that didn't matter. The anxiety -- that's what was making things different.

John slipped out of the flat and headed down to Mrs Hudson's. "John? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Can I come in?"

She moved to the side so he could pass and sat down at the sofa with him when he told her that he didn't want any tea. "What's wrong?" she asked again.

"When I went to the doctor today he said the side effects of the medicine are strange. Like a-husband-thought-he-wanted-to-divorce-his-wife-type strange." He looked over at her but she simply waited for him to go on. He looked down at his hands. "I feel it. In here," he added, touching his chest. "I feel it here that I love him but I'm so scared of being wrong."

"What have you told him?"

John shook his head. "Nothing. He thinks it's just the tea and the food and he is annoyed that I am being so paranoid about the things I can't remember."

She reached out for his hand and squeezed it lightly. "I know it's hard, but you have to wait until the medicine wears off. That's the only way you can be sure. Of course you could tell him anyways but like I said, if you change your mind he'll never recover."

"He probably doesn't even feel the same way," John pointed out. Mrs Hudson merely shrugged and got up to make herself tea. John called in the Chinese and decided to wait in her flat for it so it would be easier to get to the door when it came. 

"You know, John," Mrs Hudson said as she brought her tea in. "I'm probably not the ideal person to speak to about this, but I suppose I'd just suggest that you use the time waiting to think about two things. First off, I personally knew that you and Sherlock loved each other within a month of you moving in here. Now I know you two never said it, because men are stupid like that, but if you ask me, the love was already there. Think about how Sherlock's been acting since this happened -- he's trying to show you how he felt before but never told you. You need to be very clear on your feelings before you speak. There's quite a difference between telling him he's your best friend whom you love and asking him to marry you. Be sure you tell him what you actually mean . . . presuming you know what you actually mean. What's in your heart," she motioned to John's chest, "might just be what's always been there and now you realise you should have let him know before this all happened." She smiled and then stood up.

"The second thing you need to think about John -- well, you seem to be quite worried that you'll tell him you're in love with him and he won't feel the same way. But I think it'd be wise to spend a little more time thinking about how you'll react if you tell him and he also feels that way. Now I'm not saying he will -- I don't know anything about this business -- but it's one thing to be a couple in a romantic dream, it's another to be a couple in life. Sherlock Holmes is not an easy man to love in any way -- God knows I love him but he drives me batty. If he turns to you and says he also loves you 'in that way', are you honestly prepared for that?" She sat back down next to him. "Just a few things to think about -- sort those as you wait for your system to clear."

John wanted to go back up to his own flat, hating how much sense she was making. Was the stress he was feeling because he suddenly realised how he felt all along? And what if Sherlock did say he loved him as well? He was ready for that . . . wasn't he? He'd lived with Sherlock for so long, he knew what kind of man Sherlock was, his bad habits, all of it. He didn't mind those things. "I want him to feel the same way," John admitted, knowing that wasn't the same as being ready for it.

"Why don't you do this, John -- write down your dream, write down all the feelings it makes you think you have. And then when the medication's out of your system, read that paper. If you still feel the same, tell him. If you don't, tell him how much he means to you. Tell him he's your best friend. What do you think?" she suggested.

John nodded. "Okay. That's a good idea." He heard the knock at the door and got up to get it, thanking her again before leaving. He carried the food up slowly and knocked on Sherlock's door. "The food's here," he called, going to the kitchen to get it ready. As soon as he was finished he was going to do what Mrs Hudson suggested. He was also going to stop taking his medicine. 

Sherlock had actually fallen asleep, which hadn't been his intention, but obviously was what he needed. He heard John tap on his door so he stretched to wake himself up properly. It felt strange sleeping on his own, which he then thought was a rather strange thing to think. He stood up, straightened his shirt and went out to the kitchen.

John had dumped the food into plates and had taken out two bottles of water. "Did you sleep okay?" he asked, looking over at Sherlock's half flattened hair. He wanted to reach out and fix it, but he resisted. 

"I wasn't -- yes, I slept fine," Sherlock said. "I hadn't planned to, but it just happened." He took a few bites of food and then drank half his bottle of water. "Mrs Hudson all right?"

John nodded. "I figured I should be closer to the door so he wouldn't wait so long so we had a nice chat," he said. 

"Good, that's good," Sherlock said. He ate a little more food and pushed the rest around his plate. He finished his water. "You know, John, I think I'll have an early night tonight. Just to get caught up. Get back to normal."

"Um . . ." John cut off and looked down at his food. He had been about to ask for them to do a crossword before bed, but he supposed it would be best if they got back to normal. John had homework anyways. "Okay. I can clean up," he said. 

Sherlock stood up. "I'll just be in my room. You promise you'll get me if you need me, right? For anything -- I'm not trying to tell you to leave me alone. It's just . . . I guess I just feel like lying down, but come get me if you need anything, yeah?" He headed towards his room. He looked back at John and smiled. "I'm glad you're getting better, John. I knew you would." And then he disappeared into his room.

John put all of the food away and then went up to his room. He pulled out a journal and a pen from the drawer in his desk and he started to write. He started with the dream, writing everything he remembered seeing in as much detail as he could. He then moved into the feelings that this dream left him with and the thought that maybe they had been there all along. And then he moved onto his fears -- the forgetting and the confusion. He wrote about Mrs Hudson and the talks they had, about the doctor, and then about the fact that he didn't believe either of them. Only himself.


	6. John Comes Clean

John read what he had written every night for the next week before bed. He had stopped his medicine and was definitely feeling pain, but he refused to take the pills.

Things with Sherlock were odd. Overly polite, too friendly, almost like strangers. He didn't know how to act normal anymore and he hated it.

Sherlock was doing his best to avoid John. Well, not avoid him -- just give him his space. He thought maybe that had been his mistake right after it happened; perhaps he had been more motivated to appease his guilt than he had realised. In all honesty, he didn't want to give John space -- he wanted to be with him all the time. That's the only good thing to have come from all this: an excuse to be with John all the time, even when he was sleeping, but that was obviously too much. Especially when clearly things were going on in John's head -- the anxiety about changes -- that Sherlock could apparently do nothing to help with.

Sherlock, of course, did keep watch over John, as he had promised to do. He could tell that John still had pain but after a few days, he didn't even mention the medication option to him anymore -- obviously John wanted to deal with things in a different way. Sherlock couldn't blame him really. Pills always came with their own problems.

In fairness, they were still together most of the time. Each went out occasionally on his own but they always ate their meals together. But it all felt different and Sherlock didn't like it. He just wanted John back properly. He was willing to wait as long as he needed to to get that. 

It had been a little over a week, almost two, when John was reading his letter and he realised that he needed Sherlock to know. It wasn't medicine, it wasn't trauma, and it wasn't suggestions. It was real. He hadn't taken medicine in all this time, he knew it was out of his system, and everything was still true.

He folded the letter in half and left his room, leaving to find Sherlock. He was lying on the sofa, glancing over when he heard John on the stairs. John walked over to him but had no idea what to say -- how to start. He simply handed Sherlock the letter.

He moved backwards and sat in his chair, fiddling with his fingers in his lap as he waited for Sherlock's response. He'd long since changed it, adding the fact that he was trying to keep a distance to be sure of his feelings. This way, the letter had the story and the explanation for everything.

Sherlock watched John sit down after handing him the paper. John's face said that whatever was written on this paper was big and, for a second, Sherlock thought perhaps it would be too big for him to handle. He thought about setting it on the table and leaving the flat, running away. But that was no longer an option in life for him. At least not when it came to John. So he unfolded the paper and read it.

Then he sat up and then he stood up. He turned his head, but not really his eyes, towards John and said, "I'm going to go into my room now. I am hoping you might be willing to follow me in there, please?" He started walking towards his bedroom. 

John was so anxious waiting for a reply that when Sherlock spoke he was startled. He looked over and nodded, not having any idea what that meant. Was Sherlock angry? Did he feel the same way? Why were they going to his room? He followed Sherlock, waiting by the door.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and walked both of them over to his bed. He sat down on it and then said, "Will you lie by me? Like the last time you slept here?" Sherlock lay down on the bed, waiting for John.

John climbed up on the bed and turned onto his side, forcing himself to look at Sherlock. He tried to read his face, but it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

Sherlock curled around John, being mindful of his side, and then, like before, he put his fingers through John's hair and over his face before sliding them down to his neck and underneath the collar of John's shirt. He pressed his head against the pillow. "What you wrote . . . was unexpected," he said finally, "I'm not very good at knowing what to say about these sorts of things." He lifted his head a little and looked at John lying beside him. And then he kissed John's lips softly, closing his eyes, realising instantly that this is what he wanted, needed, all along.

John closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock's touch, his hand moving over his hair and skin. And then he spoke, and it wasn't angry and it wasn't sentimental but it was all Sherlock. And then Sherlock was kissing him and John's whole body flooded with heat and need. He pressed into the kiss harder, bringing his own hand up to Sherlock's cheek as he kissed him properly.

Sherlock stayed with the kiss -- kissing John -- but his hand moved back to John's hair and he held it tightly. Kisses stopped eventually, he knew that, but he didn't want this one to.

John tried to scoot closer, but it was hard to do, thanks to his side. So he pulled at Sherlock instead to make him come closer. The kiss became a bit messier but he needed it -- he didn't want it to stop. 

Sherlock tried to shift closer but was too worried about hurting John. So he just gripped John's head, pressing it against his mouth.

John moaned into the kiss and tried to close the space, desperate to feel Sherlock against him. All the small touches -- their hands, John's head on his arm, their looped arms -- it was all teasing, building up to this. 

And then Sherlock pulled back. He left his hand in John's hair, but he broke the kiss and pulled back his head a little. "All right then," he whispered. "It's all right."

John huffed out a breath and gazed at him, gripping his clothes before he could get any further away. He tried to get his breathing back to normal, unsure of what to say. What had happened? 

Sherlock stayed close but let his head drop onto the pillow. "I liked that," he said softly.

John nodded, licking his lips. "Me too," he said, laying his own head down as well. He relaxed his hands a bit, the neediness wearing off a bit.

"And you want that kind of thing to be . . . a part of us now?"

John nodded. He touched Sherlock's cheek and then gripped his shirt again. "Do you?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he said, "For always or just until you're a hundred per cent recovered?"

"For always," John said. "I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't sure."

"And how different do you think we'll be on a day-to-day basis? Except for that kind of thing, I mean, which I appreciate is different. But I mean, do you think it will be very different than it was before you went to the hospital?"

"No," John admitted. "The dream showed me that we were close already. There was just . . . something missing."

"And you think it's this kissing-type of thing?"

John nodded. "It's -- more," he said. "I wanted more."

"And do you think you'll want more than just kissing?"

John nodded again. He flushed lightly, but he kept his eyes on Sherlock's. "I want everything," he said

"We'll be partners? I mean, in the way the nurses meant it?"

John grinned. "Yes," he nodded. 

"All right then," Sherlock said.

John blinked at him, waiting for more. His eyes moved over Sherlock's face. 

"Are you planning on saying 'I love you' at some point, do you think?" Sherlock asked. "Because I love you."

John took in a quick breath and felt his whole body flush. "I love you, too. Of course I do," he said. 

"All right then," Sherlock said again, turning a little to look up at the ceiling. "Does this topic need further conversation, do you think, or are we done now?"

John let go of his shirt as he turned and bit his lip. "Well, if we're not going to talk, can we keep kissing?"

"I was thinking that might be a good idea," Sherlock said. He turned back over on his side to face John. He leaned in again and kissed his softly. Then he said, "Is it okay?"

"Is what okay? The kissing?" John said, nodding. 

"Yes. Is it what you like, I mean. Do I do it like you like?"

John smiled. "I like kissing you however you want to do it," he said. 

"But I want to do it how you like. Show me what you like," Sherlock said.

"I . . . but it's not how, Sherlock. It's who," he insisted, pulling him into another kiss. 

Sherlock took John's kiss. "Hmm. . . I know it's who, John, but it's also how. For example, what about this?" He licked from John's lips straight up the bridge of his nose. "What about if I said that's how I like to do it, that and only that? Don't tell me you'd find that satisfying . . . it'd be a lie. I just want to do it like you like." 

"I like when there is less talking during the kissing. I want to feel your lips and taste your mouth. I want you to hold me and wrap me up in . . . just you," he said. 

Sherlock smiled. He tried to wrap his arms around John. "I'm worried about hurting you," he said as he tangled their legs and kissed him quickly again.

"Just don't press down on the left," he smiled, kissing him properly. 

"Don't be bossy," Sherlock said smiling. He kissed John's mouth, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked at John as he did.

"Don't tell me what to do," John countered, dipping to kiss and suck at his neck. 

That felt good. "If I were going to, I'd tell you to keep doing that," Sherlock said softly. He moved his hands softly on John's back and reached over to kiss at John's hair.

"You like that?" John murmured, shifting to get on top of him. It took a bit of effort and he grunted softly until he was seated over Sherlock's thighs. He leaned down carefully and kept going, sucking at the skin. 

"Don't hurt yourself . . ." Sherlock said, " . . . but don't stop." He reached down and held John's arms.

"I had dreams about this . . .about us," he murmured against Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock didn't say anything to that. He just closed his eyes and thought about it being John's mouth touching his skin. His whole body felt warm. It felt like this was home.

John pulled Sherlock's shirt off, making his way down Sherlock's chest, kissing and sucking on his skin.

"John," Sherlock said softly. That's all he said.

John took his nipples into his mouth, rolling them lightly between his teeth, kissing his chest between them. He couldn't get enough.

John's touch made Sherlock smile to himself -- not only because it felt good but it made Sherlock remember all those times John had insisted there was nothing like this between them, and how very, very wrong John had been. He opened his eyes and smiled at John.

"What?" John asked, slowly moving lower to his stomach.

"You fancy me properly which means everyone's been right all along and that just makes me smile," Sherlock said, grinning stupidly.

"Oh, shut up," he smiled, pressing a hard kiss to his belly before continuing downwards.

"Shush, just keep being nice, this is nice," Sherlock said, "it's making me feel . . . good."  
  
"Good," John smiled, pulling Sherlock's pajama pants all the way off. He hoisted himself up a bit, and then he had to take a quick second to get his breath before leaning over him to continue.

"John," Sherlock said, waiting for him to look up. "Why aren't you more nervous? Aren't you nervous at all about this sort of thing?"

John shook his head. "You don't make me nervous," he said. "And sure, I've never done this before but I like making you feel good," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I like it too. I feel a little nervous, though -- but not too much." He reached down and touched John's hair with his hand.

John smiled and kissed his hip, starting to stroke him with his hand. "What are you nervous about?" he asked.

"What you're doing," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes for a moment and just concentrated on the feeling. "It's just . . . new, with you. That's all."

"Are you worried I'll be bad at it?" John teased, sweeping his thumb over the tip.

"Um, I can kind of tell already that you're not bad at it," Sherlock said, smiling. "It's just new, shush now, less teasing, more of that." He felt light on the bed, safe with John's touch.

John smiled and licked at the head, kissing halfway down the shaft before coming up again and taking him into his mouth.

"Fucking hell, John Watson," Sherlock said. Then he laughed. "Sorry," he said, trying not to giggle. "It's just . . . unusual." He smiled widely at John and then ran a hand through his own hair before covering his face a little. He made a little moan. "That's good, John."

John smiled and continued bobbing up and down, stroking what he wasn't getting into his mouth yet.

Sherlock's whole body was now filled with heat, which was odd as he was the one completely naked while John was still fully clothed. Sherlock could feel his breathing change. John's mouth was so wet and warm and touching him in a place he never thought it would. He tried to reach down to touch John somewhere, to connect.

John brought his hand up and took Sherlock's, moving a bit deeper as he lowered his other hand to tug on his balls.

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. Then he whispered, "John, maybe you should stop . . . I haven't . . . in so long, I'm worried I won't last much longer." He kept his eyes closed while he spoke.

John pulled off slowly and looked up at him, kissing his hip again. "You won't get it up for me again?" He murmured.

"John," Sherlock said, "I'll be honest with you -- it's been quite some time since it's been 'up' at all, so I don't think we should push our luck." He smiled and tried to pull John closer. "Take off your clothes. Be fair," he said, pulling at John's shirt.

John pulled his shirt over his head, wincing lightly at the stretch. His wound looked awful -- worse than the first one until it scarred. He flushed lightly as he moved right to trying to get out of his pajama bottoms.

Sherlock didn't want to look at John's wound -- not because it was gross but because it made him feel bad. He ran his fingers lightly across John's chest and then up and over his shoulders. "Lie facing me in a way that's comfortable," he said softly.

Sherlock wouldn't look at his wound and John looked down for a moment. Women always avoided his older scar and he knew how awful the new one looked -- especially since it was still red and raw. "I-I think I want my t-shirt back on," he murmured, moving to reach it from the ground.

"John, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "It's okay, don't put your shirt back on. It just . . . reminds me that I let you down -- you can put it on if you want obviously, but I'd rather you didn't. I want to be able to touch you everywhere."

"You didn't," John murmured, kissing him hard on the mouth. He lay on his back and then slowly onto his side, facing Sherlock. He pulled him in for another kiss, holding him close.

"Shh," Sherlock said, kissing John's mouth. He moved one hand into John's hair and then down his neck to sweep across his shoulders. He parted his lips and moved his tongue into John's mouth as he tipped his head just a bit. He moved his hand down John's arm to his hip where he let it sit for a minute before moving it to hold John's cock. He let it stay there, just touching the warm, soft skin before starting to slowly stroke him.

John was already feeling too hot, squirming into his hand for more. The thought that it was Sherlock touching him this way made everything feel a hundred times better. "I love you so much," he murmured, reaching over to touch him, to touch anything so he could simply feel Sherlock in his hands. He had on in Sherlock's hair and the other on his shoulder.

Sherlock's grip became faster and firmer. "John," he made a little moan of his name, "I'm so glad for you." He moved his mouth to John's ear, sucking it softly, and down to his neck where he kissed and nipped at the skin.

John nodded, panting softly as he let his head fall back a bit. 

Sherlock's hand kept moving on John's cock and he lifted his other one to John's chest. After covering John's neck with kisses, he lowered himself a little and sucked at each of John's nipples.

"Sherlock . . . slower, I'm-I'm close," he murmured, arching out against his mouth. 

Sherlock slowed his hand, making long, firm strokes and dipping down to stroke John's thighs and balls. He moved his mouth further down and put a few soft kisses just above John's wound. Then he lifted his head and kissed John's mouth again, long and hard.

John closed his eyes and almost tried to move away from him. Then he was up at John's mouth and he pressed into that, focusing on the taste of his mouth.  

Sherlock pulled his head back and looked into John's eyes."When you're all better," Sherlock said, "I will kiss every single inch of you."

John nodded, gazing at him. "And now?" he asked. 

"And now, I want to make you come," Sherlock said.

"I want you to come, too," he said. 

"All right then," Sherlock said. "I won't put up a fight." He smiled and kissed John again. He moved his hand a little faster on John.

"Can we . . . I want to do it proper, " John whispered, breathing heavily as he was brought closer to the edge again.  

"Do you mean . . . sex?" Sherlock asked, his hand stopping.

John looked up to meet his eyes. He nodded and licked his lips. "If you want to this time," he said. "I thought that's why you stopped me before."

"I just didn't want it to be over straight away," Sherlock said. He kissed John and said, "All right, let's. Hold on." He leaned over and dug through the bottom drawer of his cabinet. He came back with a condom and a bottle of lube. "Um, they're kind of old but I'm sure they'll do the trick."

John nodded, looking back up at him and kissing him softly. "I saw this in my dream," he murmured. "I've been thinking about it ever since."

"I'm afraid to ask what else was in this dream," Sherlock said smiling. "I -- what's the best way for us to be? Is it easier if we lie side by side or do you want me to move to the edge of the bed -- I just don't want you to make your side worse."

"If you want me to do it we might have to wait . . .I don't know if I can move my hips the way I would like to. Unless you want to climb on top of me," John suggested.

"I do want you to do it but I don't want to hurt you if I'm on top. I can wait if you'd rather do it the other way," Sherlock said. "Just tell me -- what was in your dream? You decide." He reached down and stroked John as they were deciding.

"I saw everything in my dream," he sighed. "And you won't hurt me on top. I can move up a bit easier than out."

"All right then," Sherlock said, leaning a bit over John to push him flat on the bed. He lowered himself down John's body, trailing kisses, until he got to his cock, which he licked up and down before sucking him into his mouth. He swirled his tongue, getting him all wet. Then he moved up and carefully straddled John. He took John's hand and poured some lube into it and then guided it between Sherlock's legs as he leaned down to kiss his mouth.

John kissed back as he rubbed his fingers lightly over the entrance as he got everything wet. He pressed his fingers against it, teasing at first.

Sherlock moaned softly at the touch which he hadn't missed but now knew he wanted again. With John.

John slowly pushed his finger in, moaning at the tightness. He pumped his hand, gazing up at him.

Sherlock looked down at John and smiled. "It feels good," he said, "you okay with it?" He moved his body just a little against the pressure of John's finger.

John nodded, gently adding a second one. "You look beautiful up there," he smiled.

"Shh," Sherlock said softly, as he closed his eyes and dipped his head a little. His body was now moving on its own, rocking against John's hand. He reached to stroke John's cock slowly.

"You're gorgeous," John continued. He pumped his hand faster. "I can't wait to feel you."

Sherlock lifted his head and looked down at John. "Fuck," he moaned quietly, "I can't wait either. Just . . . don't hurt yourself." His whole body was pulsing with electricity and it was making his brain work just a little more slowly. He looked around the bed and reached for the condom, which he opened and rolled onto John. He covered it with more lube and then leaned forward a little, bracing himself with his arms over each of John's shoulders. "Should we try?"

John nodded, already forgetting about his wound. "Yes, please," he said, needing to feel Sherlock.

"All right," Sherlock said, dipping down to kiss John's mouth, "fuck me please." He reached down for John's hand and moved it to John's cock. He separated his legs and adjusted himself a little so that John could line himself up.

John lined up with Sherlock and touched his thigh. "Come down," he instructed. He tried to lift up and felt a sharp burn.

"Don't hurt yourself," Sherlock said again, looking into John's eyes. He pushed himself slowly back, taking John inside his body. "Fuck," he groaned. He kept it slow, which almost made it torturous as in his mind he wanted John fast and hard, but since it'd been so long for him and John was still recovering, slow seemed the safest bet. "God, John, you feel good," he said as he looked down at him.

"Fucking hell," John moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're so tight . . . so good."

Sherlock kept his breath steady, concentrating on each inhale and exhale. Once John was fully inside him, he took one more deep breath, opened his eyes and looked down at John. "I'm going to move a little now, you've got to tell me if it hurts you and I'll stop." Sherlock used the muscles of his thighs to lift himself, feeling John slowly slide almost all the way out before Sherlock dropped down again and took him back in. He kept up this movement, until it became a rhythm and he left his body follow it naturally. "Jesus, John, it just . . . you feel so good inside," Sherlock moaned.

"Oh God . . .Sherlock, fuck," John groaned, arching his back. It hurt but he didn't care. He'd never needed anything as much as he needed to move with Sherlock, to feel him so completely. He gripped Sherlock's thighs and lifted up, groaning and moaning all at once with everything going on.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's mouth sloppily. He tried to roll his hips rather than bounce, to keep the movement from being too rough for John but also because it felt like John was moving even further inside him. Sherlock's mouth moved over John's face and to his ear. He sucked in John's earlobe and then bit it. "Is it . . . like your dream?" he asked in between pants of breath. 

John nodded, opening his eyes to watch Sherlock move over him. "It's better," he breathed, rubbing his hands up his thighs and sides.

"John, you feel so good," Sherlock said, "why haven't we been doing this all along?" He looked at John's face and smiled before kissing his mouth softly. He rolled his hips harder against John, making small moans with each movement.

John chuckled as he tried to move with him. "I wish I could do more, but this is so fucking good." He brought his hand up to Sherlock's cock, stroking him quickly.

"Yes," Sherlock moaned instinctively. "Please, don't stop," he was having trouble controlling his breathing now as he felt a tension in his belly he knew would soon spread elsewhere.

John brought his other hand up to Sherlock's hair, touching his face softly. "I love you so much," he murmured. He was so close, the heat building quickly.

"John," Sherlock said, "I love you, too." He closed his eyes and lifted his head back a bit. All the movements, all the physical sensations, were overwhelming him, and then John said he loved him and Sherlock felt like he was going to explode with everything they were sharing. And then he did, coming against John's hand and over his belly. Sherlock tried to maintain the movement of his hips through his orgasm though it was much less smooth as his body jerked.

"Ah, fuck," John called out, losing it when Sherlock started squeezing around him. He pushed up despite the pain and came, calling out for him loudly.

Sherlock stayed with John through his orgasm and then rolled softly from him, being careful of his side. He lay down next to him, curling a little. "You okay?" he said softly, stroking John's cheek.

John nodded. "I think I'll need medicine, but it was worth it," he smiled, turning his head to look at Sherlock.

"Fine, you can take it -- as long as you don't let it stress you out," Sherlock said, moving his hand to stroke John's chest now. "And if it makes you change your mind about this . . . you won't get freaked out until the medicine's out of your system."

"I promise," John said, taking his hand. "That was so good, Sherlock."

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "Get yourself comfortable and we'll have a nap."

John turned onto his good side and couldn't stop smiling. He wasn't sleepy, he was excited and hyper. "Do we have to nap?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said, smiling. "We can do whatever you want. Within limits, obviously." He pinched John's arm softly.

"I think, well, after a short rest I want to do it again," he grinned.

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "I don't want you to overexert yourself. Besides, we have all the time in the world now."


	7. New Things

Sherlock stroked John's arm. "So . . . Mrs Hudson knows all about this," he asked.

John nodded. "She noticed how I had changed around you -- she warned me about making sure."

"Do you think she'll be pleased about what's happened -- I don't mean this bit," Sherlock said, moving his hand around the bed. "Or was she against the idea?"

"I think she will be pleased. She just wanted to make sure you were happy."

"Hmmm . . . I bet she was mostly worried I wouldn't be a good 'partner'. Which is fair enough, I suppose. Aren't you worried about that? That kind of stuff isn't exactly my specialty."

"She really was just worried about you being hurt. And no, I'm not worried about that," he said.

"Well . . . I don't want to be hurt, John," Sherlock said softly.

John squeezed his hand. "I won't hurt you, Sherlock. I'll try not to."

"Good, that's good," Sherlock said. He moved his fingers softly over John's chest again, trailing them up to his neck and down to his belly.

"I've always admired your hands," John murmured, closing his eyes.

"Shush," Sherlock said, "You talk rubbish sometimes. These hands have mostly got you into trouble, John Watson." He pinched his nipple and pulled a face at him.

"They're lovely hands. Sexy," John smiled.

"Well, I confess I have a new respect for your definition of sexy now that I'm aware of your talents," Sherlock said.

John grinned. "Don't say talents as if I'm honing my skills," he said. He brought his own hands up to touch Sherlock's skin.

"Well, if that really was the first time you've done those things, then it must just be an innate skill," Sherlock said. "Perhaps you were just born to suck cock, John Watson," he added, laughing stupidly. "That's really not a sentence I ever thought I'd hear myself say." He got a proper case of the giggles and tried hard to stop.

John grinned wider and couldn't help laughing with him. "Shut up," he managed breathlessly. "You're such a goof."

"It's because of the sex," Sherlock said, trying to sound offending. "You're the one who caused all these hormones to go crazy. That's why I tend to avoid orgasms. They appear to turn me stupid." He managed to get himself a bit under control.

"Adorable," John corrected. "I've haven't seen you laugh like that since the palace," he smiled.

"I don't want you to remember the first time we had sex as the time Sherlock started laughing and couldn't stop," Sherlock said, laughing at himself again.

"That's exactly how I'm going to remember it," John laughed. 

Sherlock looked at John. "I will always remember everything about this," he said seriously.

John sobered and brought his hand up to Sherlock's cheek. "Me too," he agreed. 

"I need a cup of tea," Sherlock said, sitting up a little. "I would definitely like to continue . . . this kind of thing, even if it's just kissing, but I need a cup of tea first." He got out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown. "Should I bring some tablets in for you?"

"Yes please," John nodded, hating to admit that he was hurting a bit. 

Sherlock smiled softly. As he left the room, he realised his body was a bit sore too, but for a different reason. In a strange way, Sherlock kind of appreciated the discomfort, because it reminded him of what he and John had done. Unlike John, of course, Sherlock knew his aches would be gone tomorrow. He returned to the bedroom with two cups of a tea, and a bottle of water and John's pills in his pocket. He set the mugs down and gave John the water and pills, before climbing back into bed. 

John took the tablets and then held his tea with both hands, waiting for them to kick in. "Have you thought about us this way before?"

Sherlock looked down at his tea. This seemed like a dangerous question. He had three options: he could avoid, he could lie or he could tell the truth. He looked up at John and decided the truth was the probably the right choice. "No, not exactly," he said quietly. "I don't really think about sex stuff at all. But I suppose I have thought about loving you. I was surprised how much I liked when you slept beside me."

John smiled and looked over at him. "Yeah, I really liked that as well. I liked being so close to you. It made me feel very relaxed," he admitted. "To be honest, my dream was mostly things like cuddling to watch telly or cooking dinner together. Not as much sex as you would think in a fantasy dream," he grinned.  

Sherlock smiled at John and leaned over and kissed his face. "I hope I can do sex as much as you want to," he said. "I'll try."

John shook his head. "Whatever we do will be fine, I am sure," he smiled. 

"I hope so," Sherlock said. "I want to make you happy."

"You have. You are," John insisted. "I don't need sex for that. Just you," he smiled. 

"Does that mean you didn't like the sex with me?" Sherlock said quietly.

"What? Of course I did! It was fantastic -- I even wanted more right after," he pointed out. "I just meant I like being with you so much that I don't care what we're doing. I just . . .it's enough that you love me."

"I want to do sex again," Sherlock said. "I liked it. I've not always been a fan, but I liked it. Really."

John reached over and squeezed his hand lightly before sipping at his tea again. "I'm glad," he smiled. "Because I really liked it too."

"I hope we can do some more things before the end of the night," Sherlock said. "I mean, if you want to."   
  
John grinned. "Yeah, I would like that," he nodded.  

"Let's kiss again," Sherlock said, rolling a little bit onto John's good side and leaning up so his face was right in front of John's.

John smiled and touched his cheek, leaning up a bit to press their lips together. He slid his hand back into Sherlock's hair.

"I like that," Sherlock said. "Which might surprise you as you know I'm a bit peculiar about my hair. But I like when you touch it. Because it's you." He leaned in and gave John a few short kisses on his mouth and face.

John smiled and tightened his hand in Sherlock's hair, petting his head as he closed his eyes to the kisses.

"John," Sherlock said, in between kisses, "are you planning on announcing this change to everyone or are we going to just appear mostly the same?"

"They'll see us holding hands and such and they will know," John smiled.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said smiling, "I'm not sure what the 'and such' people will be actually seeing -- I hope you're not planning on inviting observers into the bedroom. But I'd prefer it if that's the way people's suspicions gets confirmed, just their noticing little differences rather than us having to make an announcement." He tangled his legs up with John's and mindlessly stroked the skin of John's bicep.

John grinned and shuffled into the close embrace. "Just little things. No one is coming into the bedroom," he promised. 

"And do you think seeing me . . . naked and, dare I say, a little sentimental, is going to ruin your opinion of me forever?" Sherlock asked.

"Not even a little," he grinned. "It can only make things better."

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "As you well know, I am famously not good at sentiment." He pinched John's arm again to prove it.

"You'd be surprised," John smiled.

"We'll see," Sherlock said, moving to John's side now. He put his hand on John's chest and then moved it lower. "Your side feeling okay?"

John nodded. "It's a dull burn. Nothing too bad," he murmured.

Sherlock trailed his hand to John's cock. "How's this feeling?" he said, as he ghosted his fingertips up and down it.

"Could be better," he murmured, looking up at his face. He was so handsome. "You could make it better."

"I'll try," Sherlock said. He turned his hand and gripped John gently, first just stroking his thumb over the tip. "I like touching you -- I've never loved touching or being touched, but . . ." he leaned in and kissed John's chest.

"You're doing very well," John smiled, kissing the top of his head.

Sherlock shifted himself and reached over for the lube. He poured some into his hand and went back to stroking John. His soft grip moved more smoothly now. He reached up and began sucking softly on the skin on John's neck, humming as he did.

John hummed softly, trying to keep still for him. "I love when you touch me," he smiled.

Sherlock just kept sucking on John's neck, but he lowered his hand to pull softly on John's balls and stroke everywhere between his legs.

"Sherlock," John whispered, still a bit stunned with the whole thing. This was Sherlock--his Sherlock now -- touching him and kissing him and making him feel so very good. 

"Stop thinking about anything," Sherlock said softly. "Just be here with me." He let his fingertips brush over John's opening. "Can you move your legs a little for me?" he asked.

John opened his eyes again to looked at Sherlock. "I am here. I just can't stop thinking about the fact that I am here with you. With you," he repeated because it was so important. 

Sherlock smiled at him. "Good," he said, "I'm all right with that being in your head." He let his head drop and just rested it on John's shoulder as he continued to stroke him. He noticed that their breathing matched.

John brought a hand up to hold his cheek, then slid it down his neck and shoulder and settled it on Sherlock's waist. "You know, I love touching you too," he said.

Sherlock just smiled. He moved his hand back to John's cock and stroked a little more firmly this time.

John patted around for the lube, squeezing some out and stroking Sherlock now as well. 

"Just slow for now, yeah?" Sherlock said lightly.

John nodded, slowing his hand so that he was just lightly grazing Sherlock. 

"I know we've touched before, but this is different. Not just because of where we're touching, which is obviously different, but how as well. I just want to enjoy that for a while," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and felt his hand on John and John's hand on him.

"I know what you mean," John said. "I know."

Now that John was hard, Sherlock dipped his hand down again, this time concentrating a bit more, pausing a bit more, letting his fingertip hover over John's hole.

John shifted lightly, meeting his eyes. "What does it feel like?"

"You mean to me or what will it feel like to you?" Sherlock asked.

"What will it feel like to me," John clarified, his fingers moving a little more deliberately against his shaft. 

"Like being filled," Sherlock said. "When you did it to me, it felt like you filled a space I didn't know was missing you. It doesn't really hurt if we go slow -- it feels like a stretch. It is unusual the first time, if you've never felt it before. I hope you like it when we do it, but if you don't, that's okay -- we can just do it like we did earlier."

John looked down for just a second and back up again. That was a lovely way of thinking about it and it helped ease his nerves a bit. "I want to. I would like to feel that with you," he said. 

"Can I try with my finger now?" Sherlock said. He was making small sweeps over the soft skin between John's legs.

John nodded. He opened his legs a bit more, trying to keep his hand gentle and steady on Sherlock as he felt Sherlock's finger push into him. That was different, but not awful. 

"Take a few slow breaths," Sherlock said. "I'll just stay like this, feel me inside you."

John kept his eyes on Sherlock's, holding his gaze as he adjusted slowly. His feelings for Sherlock suddenly seemed too intense for words -- he dropped his forehead to Sherlock's so they could be a bit closer. 

"Keep breathing, John Watson," Sherlock said, "I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock," he said, kissing his mouth softly.

Sherlock kissed John back. "Does it feel all right?"

John nodded. "It feels good . . . it's good knowing that it's you," he smiled. 

"Just remember, there's lots I can do -- it doesn't have to be this," Sherlock said. He pulled his finger slowly from John's body and went back to stroking his cock.

John whimpered softly and realised he wanted that feeling back. He pushed into Sherlock's hand, focusing on stroking him again. "Why did you stop?" 

"I didn't stop, I just changed," Sherlock said, putting a kiss on his chest. "Would you like me to change back?" 

John nodded, but he kissed Sherlock before he could. "Maybe when I am properly better because. . .well, I want to feel you properly inside. Maybe even do what I did before."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John again. "What do you want me to do now? To make you feel good . . . I want to make you feel good."

"This feels good," he said, wishing he could do it all now. He cursed his wound and kissed Sherlock hard to forget about it.

"It does feel good," Sherlock said. "I like when our bodies are close together. I liked when you slept in my bed and were touching me when I woke up." As he spoke, he continued to move his hand slowly on John's cock.

John nodded. "I know it's the newness of it all, but I feel like I just want us to always be touching."

"Let's stay in this bed for the next few days -- let's not go out of the flat at all," Sherlock said, smiling.

John grinned. "Can we stay in bed until I am well enough to be fucked?" He flushed as the words came out and he chuckled harder like some kind of child. He tried kissing Sherlock in attempt to stop.

"John Watson!" Sherlock said, feigning shock. "Does this filthy mouth of yours mean you are some sort of secret pervert?"  
  
John smiled. "I am simply stating something that I would like to do," he said. 

"All right, Mr Pervert," Sherlock said, "that's something we can definitely do." He leaned in and gave him a sloppy kiss on the mouth.

John hummed as he tried to move with the kiss to keep it somewhat controlled. 

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's head and deepened the kiss.

John stilled under his touch and pressed into the kiss, moving his body closer to Sherlock. The kiss made him not want to wait a single more minute and he didn't know what he wanted to do anymore. 

Sherlock pulled back a little and smiled. Then he lay flat on the bed, but right up close next to John so their sides touched and their arms kind of overlapped. "I was thinking of what we should do next," he said, "but you have to pretend that your side isn't sore. You have to pretend that you're all healed and I'm going to give you two options and you have to choose the one you'd want to do. Okay?"

"Actually," Sherlock said, "wait -- there's one more rule. You have to pick one or the other -- you can't say 'I want to do both'. It doesn't mean we can't one day do both. But I do want you to pick one, okay?" He looked over at John. "All right, if you were all better, we could 1. take a bath together or 2. take a shower together. Which one?"

John grinned because he did want to try both. "Um, a bath first," he said finally.

Sherlock smiled back and then looked up at the ceiling. "All right. We could 1. cuddle on the sofa or 2. have sex on the kitchen table. Which one?"

John grinned. "Sex on the table," he said.

"Pervert," Sherlock said, laughing. "Okay, I'll give you a blow job. Should I do it 1. in your bed or 2. in the shower?"

"My bed," John said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "Still on my giving you a blow job: 1. in the shower or 2. in the taxi home?"

"Now who's the pervert?" John laughed. "The shower."

"A taxi or your office at the surgery?"

"My office," John said, biting his lip.

"What have you got against taxis?" Sherlock laughed. "All right, let's try something else. 1. We get two weeks doing sexy stuff but never to orgasm or 2. two weeks with no sexy stuff at all?"

"And no sexy time at all if I'm not going to be coming, because my heart might give out," he grinned.

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "1. Sexy time but no orgasm for two days or 2. no sexy time for two days?"

"I could do two days. That might be fun," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled to himself at the thought of trying that. "Okay, something different," he said. "1. Ask a woman to come to bed with us or 2. ask another man?"

John thought about that for a long time. "Only because I absolutely have to pick -- another man," he said.

"1. Ask a woman to come to bed with us or 2. never, ever ask anyone to join us -- never?"

"Never ask anyone," John said quietly.

Sherlock was glad to hear that, though he tried not to show it. He decided to go back to a less complicated proposition. "1. I give you a hand job or 2. I give you a blow job?"

"A blow job," John said easily.

"1. You give me a hand job or 2. you give me a blow job?"

"I give you a blow job," he said.

"I see," Sherlock said. "Do you have any you'd like to propose?"

"Hmm. . ." John thought for a moment. "Blow job in the lab our in the alley during a case?"

"Giving or receiving? Are we on case while we're in the lab or just while we're in the alley? Precision, John, if you expect a proper answer," Sherlock said, reaching his hand over and pinching John's nipple before lying flat on his back again. 

"I would be giving. No case in the lab, yes case in the alley," John said grinning.

"Then lab," Sherlock said, "we need to focus when we're on cases. obviously."

"I'm giving you a blow job. At the cinema or out at dinner?"

"At the cinema. No one needs to see that while they're trying to eat," Sherlock said. "But, John, we don't go to the cinema. Does this mean if you ever ask me to the movies, I'll know it's code for blow job?"

"Maybe," John smiled. "We're having sex. Lestrade's office or Mycroft's?"

"Mycroft's," Sherlock said. "Mainly because of how much he would hate the thought. That would give it me an extra thrill."

John grinned. "You're very kinky," he teased. "Mutual blowjobs: one at a time or both at the same time?"

Sherlock slid his hand through the air highlighting the distance between John's mouth and John's cock and then between his own. "One at a time, I think," he said, "so no one ends up with a sore neck." He turned to John and smiled.

"So considerate," John smiled. "Am I going to lick chocolate sauce off of you or whipped cream?"

Sherlock crinkled his nose. "Cream, I guess, but please note how very reluctantly I say that."

"Only toys for a whole week, or no toys ever?"

Sherlock looked over at John. "Toys for a whole week," he said.

"I wear a plug to dinner or you wear one at a crime scene?"

"You," Sherlock said.

John smiled. "Hmm, it's getting a bit harder now," he said. 

"What's getting harder, John Watson?" Sherlock said, reaching over and resting his hand low on John's belly.

"The game. And my neglected cock," he smiled. "How about this: I can only use my mouth on you or I can only use my hands on you?"

"Hmmm . . . hands, I guess," Sherlock said.

John smiled. "We get off with only texting and no visuals, or only visuals but no sound?"

"Texting. I'll bank up all the visuals I need in here," he said, pointing to his head, "but I like your words and sounds."

"Well, that's cheating," John smiled. 

"You can't control what's in my head," Sherlock said. He let his hand stroke John's belly lightly and he occasionally dipped down and drew a line up John's cock softly before moving back to his belly.

"Blindfold or mouth gag?" John asked quietly. 

"Definitely blindfold," Sherlock said, "between the two, I mean, obviously."

John nodded. "Sex in the pool or sex during a picnic?"

"Pool?" Sherlock said. "John, have you forgotten who I am? Now that this is going on, are you thinking we're going to start going to the cinema and on picnics all the time and then top it off with some pool time?" He pulled a face at him and laughed.

"We are playing a game, I thought," he smiled. 

"We are," Sherlock said, "but all this information has given me some interesting insight into John Watson's sexual behaviour."

"Oh? And what have you learned?"

"You're willing to try new things but ultimately like to keep your sex-based stuff private between you and your partner, which in this case, is me. True or false?"

John smiled. "True," he nodded.

"Did you learn anything about me?"

"That you like to be private as well. And have a bit more control than me," he grinned. "And you don't want to involve food."

"Well, it's just messy, isn't it? Sex is already messy enough," Sherlock said. He turned on his side to face John. "Are you going to sleep in here do you think?"

"Yes, I would like to," he nodded. 

"Good, I want you to," Sherlock said. "Are we doing to sleep now?"

John nodded. "Yes, I think that's a good idea. That was a fun game," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said, curling around John a little. "But if you have any other questions, you can always just ask me normally."

"I will," John promised. He turned a bit into Sherlock and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. "You too, yeah?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes as well and fell to sleep, snuggled up to John.

He woke up a few hours later, now facing the other way on the bed. He rolled over and watched John sleeping, listening to the sounds of his slow breathing. It was good having John in here, having John in this part of Sherlock's life as well. He put his hand on John's face and stroked it softly and then ran his fingers through John's hair. He leaned in and kissed John's shoulder lightly.

John hummed softly, half waking up at the light touches. He kept his eyes closed and tried to bring them into the dream he'd been having. But it was fuzzy now. He couldn't remember it.

"Go back to sleep," Sherlock said quietly and put his own head back down on the pillow so he could fall asleep again as well.

John slipped back easily with another small hum, his mind blank and quiet now. 

Sherlock fell back into sleep and dreamed of John. There was no talking, just smiling, and little touches. It felt nice and when he woke up in the morning, he looked over at John and realised that what he had dreamt could be real now. He smiled and kissed John's cheek.

"You wake me up nicely," John murmured, taking a deep breath before yawning. 

"Go get the tea," Sherlock said, sticking out his tongue at John. He grabbed onto him, though, to keep him from moving away.

John smiled. "Can't -- my partner won't let me go," he murmured. 

"You're in a real predicament," Sherlock said. "I hope you'll make the right choice."

"I'm thinking I should break away and get the tea. You get a bit crazy without your tea," John said with mock seriousness. 

"Probably the right choice," Sherlock said. "I'll be here when you return and I'd like to kiss after we finish our tea. Just to prepare you for that." He smiled at him. "I like seeing you in my bed."

"I want extra kisses because I am wounded," he smiled, getting out of bed and putting on Sherlock's dressing gown. He went into the kitchen and started the kettle, leaning on the counter to wait for it. When it was finally finished he walked back with the two mugs, handing one to Sherlock before climbing into bed again.  

"Do you think you'll do this for me everyday?" Sherlock asked, "because I could get used to it. Of course, in truth, you probably have made a cup of tea for me everyday since you moved in here, but I like it better when you're wearing my dressing gown and bringing it to me in bed." He took a sip even though it was too hot. "Thank you," he added quietly.

John smiled and sipped at his own tea. "I will do this every morning if you really want me to," he said. "And in return you will give me sentiment."

"I'll try, John," Sherlock said, staring into his mug. "But don't break up with me if I'm not perfect at it all the time."

"Of course not," John said. "Sometimes I will forget the tea," he shrugged, smiling over at him. 

"You'd better not!" Sherlock said. He set his cup on the table. "So what are our plans for the day? Are we staying in bed the whole time?"

John fought a grin. "We could go to the cinema," he said, trying not to laugh. 

"I'll just take the blowjob, please," Sherlock said, smiling.

John grinned. "I haven't even had my first kiss this morning!"  
  
"Well, put your tea down and let me have at you," Sherlock said, moving towards John.

"But I worked so hard on it," John pouted playfully, putting his cup down on the bedside table.

Sherlock reached over and held John's cheeks with his hands, kissing him softly. "Good morning, you," he said.

John smiled stupidly. "Good morning," he murmured. 

"How's your side? Is it worse today because of what we did?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "Taking the tablets afterwards helped. I feel okay."

"Good," Sherlock said. "How's this?" he said, palming John's cock through the soft material of the dressing gown.

"It feels good," John said, slouching down a bit and smiling up at him. 

"That's good to hear," Sherlock said. "Can I make it feel even better?" He slipped his hand underneath the dressing gown and held John.

"I'm sure you can make it a lot better," he nodded, licking his lips as their skin met. 

Sherlock started a slow stroke on John as they kissed softly. "I'm glad you've not changed your mind. Did you have any dreams last night?" he said.

John nodded. "I don't remember them, though." He didn't even remember half waking up the first time Sherlock touched him. 

"Well, just keep me in the loop if you dream up any new ideas," Sherlock said, his stroke a bit firmer as John got harder. 

John smiled. "We shared quite a few last night," he said. His breathing was a bit more erratic now.

"True," Sherlock said. "Are you thinking you want to try some of those things today? Can I vote against the picnic?"

John smiled. "Maybe we start with one inside of the flat today."

"A picnic in the flat?"

John grinned. "Excellent," he said, kissing Sherlock hard. "In the bed or properly on the sitting room floor?"

"Oh my god, how did you weasel me into this?" Sherlock said. He moved a little down John's body, kissing across his collarbone and chest.

"You owe me for tricking me out of a second orgasm last night," John grinned, petting his hair lightly. 

"What? You only had one? I had ten . . . I don't know how you got left behind," Sherlock said, blowing a raspberry on John's belly.

John laughed loudly and squirmed to get away, trying to push his head playfully. 

Sherlock inched his mouth lower, reaching down to squeeze one of John's thighs. "I like this," he said softly.

John's grin dropped into a small smile and he bit his lip lightly. "Me too," he said, petting Sherlock's hair again. 

Sherlock lowered himself even further and licked along John's cock before sucking the tip into his mouth. He flattened his tongue and began moving up and down it.

"Oh, Sherlock," John murmured, gripping his hair a bit harder. Heat burst through him as he watched.

Sherlock made a little smile and he continued to move on John. He let his tongue explore the feel of John, making the skin wet and warm with his mouth. Both hands moved to John's thighs, holding them.

John sighed happily as he watched, his fingers curling and uncurling in Sherlock's hair as he moved. It felt so good -- more so because it was Sherlock. 

Sherlock took all of John inside a few times, before moving one hand up to his cock to stroke the base as he concentrated on the rest. Then he lifted his head and said, "I want to make you come, John."

"Well, you're doing very well," John smiled, lifting his head from the headboard. "Your mouth feels fantastic."

"Good," Sherlock said, "you taste like sex." He focused on the tip for a bit, swirling his tongue, before taking all of him in again a few times. He moved his other hand from John's thighs to his balls and tugged lightly. 

John moaned loudly, his fingers stilling as he gripped Sherlock's hair. "God, your mouth," he moaned, falling back against the headboard again. "I'm getting close. . .Sherlock. . ."

Sherlock increased his motion just a little, letting his fingers drop from John's balls to the soft bit between his legs. He just wanted to remind John of that intimacy, of that place they had both gone last night. He hummed softly, making a vibration, as he continued to move on his cock.

Without realising John spread his legs open wider, arching his back with a deep moan. Heat spiked through his body. "M'close, Sherlock."

"Show me," Sherlock said, lifting his head quickly before going back to the steady movements. Seeing John's reactions was so sexy, Sherlock's own cock was aching.

John opened his legs wider and planted his feet on the bed, squirming and lifting lightly into Sherlock's mouth. He closed his eyes and images from the night before came into his head -- Sherlock's finger in his body, talking about what else could be in there -- he came before he could warn Sherlock, groaning and calling out for him as his orgasm hit. 

Sherlock swallowed down on John, staying still as his orgasm moved through him. Then he carefully pulled off of him and put a small kiss on John's lower belly. He moved to the side, curving so that his own hard cock pressed against John's thigh. He looked up at John and said, "Okay?"

John nodded, leaning over to kiss him. He reached down and slowly stroked Sherlock. "And what will we do about this?" he murmured, kissing him hard again. 

"I was hoping you could help," Sherlock said, squeezing in against him.

John shifted lower on the bed, mindful of his side as he flicked his tongue over the tip. He swirled it around the head, keeping his attention there for the moment. 

"It's not going to take much," Sherlock warned, "not after seeing you."

John smiled, licking up his shaft before taking him into his mouth, bobbing up and down and holding the base tightly. 

"Yes," Sherlock moaned, pressing his head against the pillow. He lifted one hand to John's shoulder. "Good . . ."

John hummed, moving his hand to take him deeper. It was different, took a bit of getting used to. He glanced up to looked at Sherlock's reaction. 

Sherlock looked down at him. "It's good, John," he said softly. He remembered all of this was still new to him, but it certainly didn't feel that way. "Close . . ."

John pulled up a bit to be ready for it, still bobbing and humming as he moved. His hand stroked Sherlock's thigh, his fingers gripping into the muscle. 

"I'm going to come, John," Sherlock said and he tried to pull back just a little, but it was too late and his hips jerked as he came. He gripped John's shoulders.

John winced but didn't pull away, keeping himself moving around Sherlock. It wasn't awful, just surprising. He lifted his eyes to watch Sherlock as he came.

"Fucking hell," Sherlock said, trying to catch his breath. He looked down. "You okay?"

John nodded, swiping his hand over his mouth. "I am," he said, sitting up on his knees properly. "You were lovely," he smiled.

"I'm glad you liked doing it," Sherlock said, giving John a small kiss. "You may have noticed -- I did as well."

John grinned. "I saw that," he said.

"We might need a wash, I think," Sherlock said, smiling.

"A bath?" John smiled.

"Can your wound get wet?" Sherlock said.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Now that the stitches are out it will actually be good for it."

"Okay, let's but in a minute, yeah?" Sherlock said. He moved close to John. "I like all of this."

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock. "So do I. This is us now, right?"  
  
"Yes, John," Sherlock said. "This is us."


End file.
